The Time Traveler, Book 2: Child of Freedom
by Fuzzy-Pamplemousse
Summary: Rebecca is living in Paris 1870 and is working for a wealthy family. But when she discovers a secret that no one wants to get out, she has to stop the perpetrators before they stop her. Permanently. R&R! Complete!
1. Abandoned

Child of Freedom

Chapter 1- Abandoned

**A/N: You wanted a sequel, so here it is. Enjoy!**

-

I watched as the people of Paris went about their daily lives, oblivious to everyone's problems but their own. The air was thick with the scent of baked bread, fresh fruit, and manure. It reminded me of the countryside back home. I picked up a fruit and gently felt the skin around it to see if it was fresh.

"I assure you, Mademoiselle, these are the finest and freshest fruits in all of Paris." The man behind the stall said. I assumed that he thought I didn't believe the fruit to be fresh, which I didn't.

"You've said that before, Philippe," I said. "And it hasn't always been true." I smiled.

The man, Philippe, put his hand to his heart as though he were injured. "Ah!" He said in mock pain. "You have insulted my person, Mademoiselle. I am injured." He pretended to swoon and fall down.

I put the fruit in my basket, satisfied that it was good enough, and leaned over the table of the stall. "Philippe," I said. "If you want to make any money, you're going to have to stand up and prevent little people from stealing all your fruit." At that, Phillipe jumped up. But as he did, he banged his head on the roof of his stall.

He rubbed his head and muttered a few curses in French. I handed him the money and tried to hide my smile.

"Philippe, you should be an entertainer." I said. With his slightly hooked nose, and his dark, almost black, hair, as well as his interesting personality, he could provide immense entertainment.

"You think so?" He asked. I nodded. "Ah," He said. "I would look good in tights, non?"

"Non." I replied to him, shaking my head at his silly antics. "I mean the kind of entertainer who makes jokes, and does comedic routines." I said.

"But," He replied. "You are the only person I know of who has heard of such an entertainer." He smiled.

"I must be going now," I said to him. "Madame Rouleau will be needing these fruits for her party tomorrow."

"Is that tomorrow?" He asked, surprised. I began to walk away. "Well, then," he continued. "I better get my wife to fix my old suit right away." I smiled and waved at him as I hurried through the crowd. "Au revoir, Mademoiselle Rebecca!" He called, and I pushed past some rotund women in extravagant clothing.

-

Erik was watching her. He always watched her. He made sure she stayed out of trouble, and that trouble stayed away from her. He made sure that she didn't get into fights, and that the thugs that liked to lurk in alleys always stayed in the alleys whenever she walked by. He had made it his job to watch over her.

Rebecca was from the future; she didn't know what Paris was like in this century; what dangers lurked around every corner. Of course, Erik was sure that the twenty-first century had it's own dangers, but he was also sure that Rebecca wasn't prepared for the dangers that the nineteenth century held. In the nineteenth century, women were not respected, and men were held high above them. So if something were to happen to Rebecca, the authorities wouldn't do anything to fix it.

Erik watched as Rebecca finished her shopping and began the trek home. Rebecca now worked for a splendidly rich couple that had just happened to need a maid and cook's helper when she came calling.

Actually, after Rebecca's first day of job-searching had been fruitless, Erik had gone to one of the noble's homes and... asked the maid/cook's helper to quit her job. Actually, he hadn't asked. He had pretended to be a ghost (knowing that the woman happened to be very superstitious) and had told her that if she didn't quit her job, she would find bad luck following her for the rest of her life. The woman had quit first thing the next morning.

Erik chuckled at the memory of the overweight woman shivering in terror in the middle of the might.

Rebecca reached her patrons' house in good time, and entered through the kitchen door. He heard her preparing some things and chatting and laughing animatedly with the cook, who Erik didn't trust, and who happened to be male as well as handsome.

Erik had promised himself that he wouldn't interfere with Rebecca's life unless there was danger. But it was difficult for him to not run into the kitchen and strangle the man with his lasso.

Erik sighed and admonished himself. He was supposed to be turning over a new leaf, but he simply couldn't get rid of the idea that strangling annoying people with his lasso would be **_so_** much fun. Of course, he would never actually do such a thing on purpose. Unless, of course, they were a threat to Rebecca in some way. Now all he had to do was figure out some way that the cook was a threat to Rebecca's safety.

Erik sighed again for the umpteenth time and moved away from the window. He returned to his home under the Opera Populaire and tried composing. But no matter how he tried to push them away, thoughts of Rebecca, laughing at whatever it was that the cook said, kept coming back to him.

-

I laughed. Pierre was so funny. He would do impressions of M. and Mme. Rouleau. His black hair was pulled back in a ponytail, and he was wearing an apron covered in flour. So when he acted all pompous, like the M, and Mme, he ended up being very comical.

I was glad that I could count on Pierre as a friend. After leaving Erik in the Notre Dame Cathedral six months ago, I was glad to have someone to talk to. It was often lonely during the evenings, but that was okay because Pierre was always already in the kitchen in the morning, greeting me with a warm smile and a joke about how I looked like a drowned rat before my morning coffee.

I worked on chopping some onions and peppers while Pierre stirred the broth for the soup. It smelled delicious, and I hoped that the servants would be allowed to have some after the guess were served.

Suddenly, my head filled with thoughts of Erik. I wondered what he was doing. I hadn't seen him in months, and I found it strange that he hadn't tried to speak to me again. I don't know why I thought that. Maybe it was because, even though Pierre was my friend, I felt more comfortable around Erik.

"Rebecca?" I was pulled out of my thoughts by Pierre calling my name.

"Hm, what?" I said, distracted.

"I said, could you please go get some potatoes from the cellar?" He repeated.

"Oh, sure." I said, and I headed towards the wooden door in the far corner of the kitchen. I opened the door, and ran down the stone steps.

As I neared the bottom, I thought I heard a sound. I strained my ears. Silence greeted me. The potatoes were near the steps, so I didn't have to go very far. As I reached out to grab some and put them in the small cloth I had brought, I heard a faint, mewing sound. I peered into the dark.

"Hello?" I whispered softly into the black.

A whimpering sound, coming from my left, greeted me. I turned and slowly walked towards the sound. My foot bumped up against something and the cry began again, louder and more insistent. I felt around the where my foot had bumped something, and picked up the object. Then I slowly climbed up the stairs to the kitchen.

As I neared the top of the steps, the light form the kitchen window spilled down through the open door. It allowed me to see what the object was. It was a wicker basket. I nearly fell down the stairs when I saw what was inside.

"Pierre?" I called from the open door. I heard him sigh and come over.

"What is the-" He stopped short when he saw what I held in my arms. Nestled in the basket, among some rough, old blankets, was a baby.

**A/N: Here is the first chapter. Review and let me know what you think. Please and thank you!**


	2. Questions

Child of Freedom

Chapter 2- Questions

"Where did you get that?" Pierre asked me.

"I found it in the cellar." I said, still trying to recover from the shock.

"Why do you think it was there?" He asked, taking the basket from me and putting it on an empty counter.

"I don't know." I replied, gently removing the baby from the basket and cradling it in my arms.

"Is it a boy or a girl?" Pierre asked suddenly.

"I don't know." I said. "I think we should call a doctor to check and have the baby examined." I suggested. "That way, we can know if it's healthy, and what needs to be done to take care of it."

"Good idea." Pierre said. "I'll have Jean take a letter to Dr. Hureaux." He quickly pulled out some paper from a drawer and scribbled a note to the doctor. Then he called Jean in.

Jean was a young boy of about thirteen, who Pierre told me had a crush on me. The boy blushed slightly when he saw me, and his face contrasted with his bond hair.

"Jean, I would like you to take this message to Dr. Hureaux right away. It is very important." Pierre instructed. Jean nodded and took the letter. Then he dashed out the kitchen door.

"I will prepare something for the baby to eat." I said. "Do you think you can handle the preparations without me for a moment?" I asked.

"Of course." Pierre assured me. His brown eyes twinkled in amusement at an unspoken joke.

I smiled back at him, and turned to place the baby back in the basket. It seemed very tired, or else very weak. I wondered how long it had been left in the cellar. I prepared a bottle (we had some because, at one point, before I came, Mme had become pregnant. Unfortunately, the baby had died) and tested it on my wrist before picking the baby up in my arms and feeding it.

The baby seemed to smell the milk, and reached up its little tiny hands. It grabbed at the bottle and began to suck greedily on the nozzle. I had to pull the bottle away from the baby at one point because it was drinking too much milk, too fast. The baby finished off the entire bottle and yawned loudly.

I remembered what I had learned in grade six when I had taken a babysitting course. I gently lifted the baby back into the basket for a moment, and put a towel over my shoulder. Then I picked the baby up again and held it so that its head was just above the shoulder that had the towel on it. Gently, I patted the baby's back until I heard a small urp. I patted its back a few more times, and when it didn't burp again, I lay it down in the basket. Almost immediately, the baby fell asleep. It looked so precious, lying there.

I smiled, and I set the baby a distance away from where Pierre was working. Then I turned to help him. As we worked, I pondered possible ways that the baby could have ended up in the cellar. None of them made sense. I sighed. I hoped that Jean returned soon with the doctor.

-

Erik sat at his piano, writing furiously. An idea had come to him for a song, and he couldn't get the notes down fast enough. Occasionally, he would play a note, but he mostly just wrote what notes came to mind.

Finally, Erik put down his pen, finished at last. He played the song once through, satisfied that it sounded the way he wanted it to.

It only took Erik a few minutes to feel restless again. He wanted to g out and take control of the opera again, but he knew that if he did, not only would Rebecca find out an be disappointed in him, but he would most likely be caught, and punished.

Erik decided to go and see how Rebecca was doing. Normally, he wouldn't have left her side until dark, but because she was with someone who appeared to be trustworthy, Erik had let it go. But now he was becoming restless, and he needed something to occupy his mind.

Erik left his lair under the Opera Populaire, where different operas where still being acted out, and headed towards the rich end of Paris.

The couple that Rebecca worked for was known for being very snotty, and very rich. Their family had been rich for generations, and it was only natural that the respected M. Roger Rouleau and his wife, Maria Rouleau, be renowned for just the same things.

Maria Rouleau was a bit of a sickly creature, with thin blond hair and tight, pursed lips. She always wore clothes that made her bosom look like it had been squashed, and she never did believe in wearing any rouge on her cheeks.

Roger Rouleau was the exact opposite of his wife. He was a rotund, jolly man, who never could seem to stop eating. Unless, of course, his wife told him to. That would be the only time when he would be unhappy. M. Rouleau was often a bit rude, but that was more out of ignorance than it was from thinking that he was superior to others.

Erik reached the mansion in good time, and peeked through one of the kitchen windows. That's when he caught sight of the baby. Rebecca was holding a baby. She began to feed it, and smiled at the cute, chubby, little arms reaching up for the bottle of milk.

Erik needed to know if she had adopted. Such an idea would mean that she had gotten married, or would be getting married, and Erik didn't want that to happen. He didn't know why he didn't want her to get married; he just didn't want her to.

Erik climbed the trellis that led to Rebecca's room, and waited behind the curtain. Every so often, he would hear footsteps approaching the room, and he would hold his breath in anticipation. But the footsteps never entered the room, and he would always be disappointed that he would have to wait a little longer.

Finally, someone entered the room. He held his breath, and stepped back in alarm as the person opened the curtain. Erik covered Rebecca's mouth to prevent her from screaming, which would alert the other people in the house to his presence.

Defiantly, Rebecca tore his hand away from her mouth. "What are you doing here?" She hissed in a low tone.

Erik caught sight of a basket that Rebecca had set down on the bed. Instead of answering her question, he strode over to the basket and looked in. inside was the baby.

"I found it in the cellar when I went down to get some potatoes." Rebecca offered in explanation.

"So it's not yours?" Erik asked.

"Of course not, silly." Rebecca teased with a quiet laugh. "I've barely been here six months. You think I would be crazy enough to marry someone before I knew them for at least a year?" She laughed again and sat down on the bed beside the basket.

Erik sat down beside her and looked at his hands. Rebecca smiled at him. "So how's the new life going?" She asked.

"Boring." Erik said, lying down on the bed with his arms stretched out. "I can't do anything but compose and follow you around." Erik wished he hadn't said that.

"Ah," was all Rebecca said at first. "So that's why I haven't had much for trouble." She mused.

"How about you?" Erik asked. "Has your life been any more interesting? Besides finding that baby, of course."

"No, not really." Rebecca said. She stood up and gently carried the basket over to a table that was in a corner by the window. She set the basket down and smoothed her dress.

"I have to go to bed, now, Erik." She said, looking at him pointedly. "I have a big day tomorrow. Mme Rouleau is throwing a party, and I am the only one besides Pierre who is any good at cooking. That means that I have to get a good night's sleep tonight."

Erik stood up and walked over to the window. He gazed out at the Parisian homes. The people there would be getting their children ready for bed. Someday, Erik hoped to have a family.

The pressure on his arm reminded Erik that there was someone else in the room with him.

"Erik?" Rebecca asked. "Are you all right?"

Erik nodded, and turned away from the window. "I must be going." He said. Then Rebecca did something that surprised him: She stood on tiptoe and kissed his cheek.

"Goodnight, then." She said, smiling.

Erik recovered form the shock of her actions and said goodnight to Rebecca. Then he climbed out the window and headed to back to his lair. Back in his home, Erik passed the night pondering Rebecca's actions, and touching the spot on his cheek where she had kissed him.

**A/N: Okay, here's the second chapter. Review, please!**


	3. The Babysitter

Child of Freedom

Chapter 3- The Babysitter

The next day, Dr. Hureaux came over early in the morning and examined the baby. He told Pierre and myself that the baby was female, and was perfectly healthy. Pierre spoke to me about it after the doctor had gone.

"Rebecca, we should send the child to the nuns for adoption." He suggested.

"No," I said flatly. "I know what it's like being an adopted child, never knowing where your real parents came from. I don't want her growing up as a foster child. She doesn't need that kind of hurt and confusion in her life." I took a deep breath. "I'll take care of her." I said.

"You?" Pierre asked incredulously. "I'm sorry, Rebecca, but you don't know the first thing about taking care of a child."

"All the better to learn early." I retorted, cradling the baby in my arms. She was fast asleep with her thumb in her mouth.

"Whatever," Pierre said. "I don't want to get into a fight right now. I have work to do." He began to prepare the food for the party.

I fed the baby quickly and went to help Pierre with the preparations. As we worked, we talked about who would be at the party. But the earlier ease was gone from our conversation. We mostly concentrated on getting the food prepared.

Finally, with only a few things that still needed to be done, Pierre said. "You can go and get ready for the party, if you want," He paused, and I could see the shame-faced look he had on. "I forgot to tell you earlier that Madame said you were allowed to attend." He turned his head away from me.

"Then I'll go get ready now." I said briskly, and hurried into my room, carrying the baby with me. I changed into an outdoor dress, and left the house.

If I wanted to attend the party, I needed to find someone who could take care of the baby. I hurried along the cobblestone streets and stopped in front of the Opera Populaire. I went inside and hurried to the dressing room that I knew had a way into the tunnels underneath the Opera.

I had nearly reached it when I felt a strong grip on my shoulder. I whirled around to see Erik put a finger to his lips. Then he led me through another entrance, and down to his home.

"Erik," I said. "I need a favor."

"What is it?" He asked. He seemed a little unsure about whether or not he would do it.

"I need you to watch the baby for me." I said, and I held the little baby girl out to him.

Erik backed up with his hands held out in defense. "No way," he said. "I'm not going to let you stick me with diaper duty." He shook his head fiercely.

"Come on," I said. "Please?" I held the baby up and showed him how cute she was. "Isn't she adorable?" I asked in high voice. I held the baby close and cuddled her. She cooed and held up a hand to play with my hair, which had longer since I had been there.

"I don't think so." Erik said, backing up. "Besides," he continued. "I don't know the first thing about taking care of a baby." He looked me square in the face, and I could tell that he was wrinkling his nose in disgust. "And what if it poops?" He asked. He said it as though having to poop was the most disgusting thing he had ever heard of.

"Then you change her diaper," I said matter-of-factly. "And there's nothing wrong with that. Everyone has to poop," I looked at him pointedly. "Even you have pooped, I'll bet."

"But I can do that myself," he said. "I don't need someone to wipe my bum."

"Well I would hope so," I said. "Otherwise you wouldn't deserve to take care of this little cutie pie." I tickled the baby's tummy. She laughed and grabbed my finger. Then she stuck it in her mouth and chewed on it with her toothless gums. "Isn't she cute?" I squeaked.

"Oh, yes, "Erik said sarcastically. "She's the most adorable thing I've ever seen."

"Well you don't have to be rude about it." I stated, holding the baby closer.

"What would I feed it, though?" He asked hopelessly.

I smiled. I knew I had him cornered. I handed the baby to him, and adjusted the position in which he held her.

"Make sure to support her head, as she is still very young and can't fully support it herself." I said and tucked in the baby's blankets. "You would prepare her a bottle of milk." I answered his question.

"And how exactly do you expect an ex-phantom to do that?" He asked pointedly.

"First, you boil some milk," I said. "Then you let it sit for a while so it's not too hot." I smiled as the baby tried to reach for Erik's mask.

"Then what?" He asked, rocking the baby a bit.

"Then you test the milk on your wrist to make sure that it's only lukewarm." I said. "If it's lukewarm, then you feed her. If it isn't, you let the bottle sit for a little while longer." I sat down on the sofa. "Once you've finished feeding her, you have to burp her." I said. "That means that you drape a towel over your shoulder, and then you let her lean against your shoulder with your hand supporting the back of her head. Make sure that her head is facing behind you."

Erik tried to hold the baby the way I instructed for practice. I stood up to help him.

"Like this," I said, and adjusted his hand so it was gently supporting her head. "Then you lightly tap her on the back." Erik began to gently pat her back. "That's right." I said. "Sometimes she'll burp, and sometimes she won't. If, after a few minutes nothing happens, then you can just put her down for a nap. I brought the basket to be used as a cradle." I held up the basket.

Erik nodded. "So then what's the towel for?" He asked.

"Well," I said. "Sometimes when you're burping a baby, the baby will spit up something instead of burping. The towel is so you don't get you're clothes all messy and covered in baby vomit."

"How pleasant," Erik said sarcastically.

"So you'll do it?" I asked.

"All right," Erik sighed.

"Thank you, Erik!" I exclaimed. "You're the greatest!" I gave him a gentle hug. I had to be careful not to squash the baby.

"Why do I let you talk me into these things?" He asked rhetorically.

"Because you're my friend, and you want me to have a good time at Mme's party." I said, smiling.

"I just have one last question," Erik said as I turned to leave.

"What?" I asked.

"What's the baby's name?" He asked.

"I haven't given her a name." I said. "I can't think of any names that would suit her." I added. "But you're free to name her while I'm gone," I waved and left Erik alone with the baby.

-

Erik asked himself again for the umpteenth time as to why he allowed himself to be suckered into taking care of a baby. Rebecca had been gone for an hour, and the whole time the baby hadn't stopped crying.

Erik had tried everything. He had tried feeding the baby, but she wasn't hungry. He had checked her diaper, but she didn't need a change. He had tried rocking her to sleep, but she just kept on screaming. At this rate, it would let everyone in the Opera House know that someone was living underneath it.

Erik tried rocking her again. She continued to scream. Then, all of a sudden, she stopped. She reached out for his mask, but her moved her tiny hand away. She screamed again.

Erik was at his wit's end. Finally, Erik tried lulling her to sleep with a song. Rebecca had taught him a lullaby called, **_Close Your Eyes_**. It was short, and soft. Erik figured it was exactly what the baby needed. (**A/N: If you want to know the words, check out Wandering Child, Chapter 5**)

The baby was asleep in almost an instant. Erik finished singing the lullaby, and gently laid the baby in the basket. She breathed peacefully in her slumber. Erik sighed, relieved that she had finally stopped crying.

Erik remembered that Rebecca had said her could name the baby. He spent most of the time she was asleep contemplating what name would suit the baby. He finally decided that no name he knew would suit her. She seemed so helpless, and yet, at the same time, independent. Finally, Erik decided on something unusual. He decided that she should be called, Lynaea.

**A/N: Okay, so it's not the greatest chapter. But think about what Erik had to go through. Poor guy! He has no idea how to take care of a baby. By the way, the name Lynaea is pronounced Lynn-eh-uh. Review, please and tell me what you think.**


	4. The Life of the Party

Child of Freedom

Chapter 4- The Life of the Party

I entered the room and stood there, transfixed at the beauty of it all. I had almost never been in Mme Rouleau's ballroom, and when I had, it had never held this much people, or so many wonderful decorations.

There were potted plants in every corner, along with two elegant chairs covered in fabric, and a small table. This allowed for quiet conversations to take place in an area that was semi-private. There were fabric streamers covering the ceiling (although I don't think they were called streamers then) and there was a long table covered in a white linen tablecloth on one side of the room with couples crowding around it.

Everywhere there were people talking and laughing. The gowns were splendid. I looked down at my simple gown and realized that I was under dressed for the occasion. I felt my cheeks grow warm as I walked farther into the room to allow more guests to come in.

I wasn't wearing a very fancy dress. It was a simple design that I had saved up almost all my money to buy, so I could wear it for special occasions. It was lavender in color, and had lace trim around the cuffs and neckline. The neckline was low enough so it would show off a little cleavage, but not so low that anyone who was an inch taller than me could see my breasts. The skirt of the dress hugged my hips, and then flared out. The middle of the dress had some ribbons that would be tied up so as to add a little flare to the dress, and there was a white ribbon that went around my waist. To a maid, it would appear fancy, but to a rich guest, it would appear as though I was dressed for a regular day of sitting around doing nothing. (**A/N: For those of you who care AKA: TheBlackDove, it was a poofy dress, but it did not require a crinoline.**)

I was disappointed. I had thought that I had gotten all dressed up for the occasion, only to find that even my best efforts weren't enough. I sighed and slowly strode over to one of the tables in the corner. I sat down and looked around me. It seemed as though I didn't need Erik to babysit the baby, because the party was going to be a disaster. At least, on my part it would be.

I quickly headed over to the punch table and began to pour myself a glass of punch. Then I filled a small plate with finger sandwiches and some sweet cakes. So long as I was going to be alone at this party, I was at least going to have some of the food that I had helped Pierre prepare.

Just as I was about to head back to the table, I felt a tap on my shoulder. I turned around to see a woman dressed all in red. She twirled a cream-colored parasol, even though she was indoors.

"Excuse me," She said. "But the punch bowl is running low, and I think it would be wise for it to be refilled." She twirled her parasol haughtily.

At that moment, I wanted to punch her. Instead I said, "Well then, why don't you refill it?"

The woman looked at me blankly for a moment. Then she began to grow red in the face. "Because **_I_** am not a servant," She said, puffing in anger. "**_I_** don't have to refill anything."

"And I do?" I asked. I hadn't said it rudely, but the woman's face turned even redder than before in her embarrassment.

"Well, you **_are_** a servant." She said haughtily.

"What makes you so sure?" I asked. I said it simply and sincerely. I was trying to keep my anger down, and I surprised myself at how well I succeeded.

The woman's face turned a shade of burgundy. She was just about to reply when I said politely, "Would you excuse me, please? I have something else to attend to." Then I turned and walked away, leaving the flabbergasted woman to her deal with her anger on her own.

I smiled triumphantly as I sat down. It had felt good to get back at that woman for her comment, without doing it rudely. She couldn't get mad at me for what I said because what I said made sense, and I said it sincerely and without malice.

I took a bite out of a finger sandwich and watched the couples talk, laugh and dance to the music. The band was playing a waltz, and my feet itched to dance.

Since I had come to Paris, 1870, I had learned how to dance to classical music, and I was proud of my accomplishment. I still had to look at my feet now and then, but I had made extraordinary progress in the short time that I had taken lessons. Of course, Erik had taught me, and he had been very patient, especially when I stepped on his feet.

As I nibbled on my food, I observed the people around me. There was a group of women standing near me, and I opened my ears wider to listen to their conversation. Maybe then I would have something to talk about.

"You know Rupert Bareaux?" One woman asked. The other ladies nodded. "Well, yesterday I caught him stealing some of my apples from my tree."

"No!" One woman said, and a few others gasped in surprise.

"What did you do?" Another one asked.

"I let him get away with it," the woman said, pleased by all the attention she was getting. "But I warned him that if he ever came to steal my apples again, not only would I sick my dogs on him, but I would curse him so that The Chosen would haunt him for the rest of his life." Her friends laughed with her.

"That silly boy believed it, didn't he?" One woman asked, smiling.

"Yes he did," replied her companion. "He ran home pell-mell, dropping the apples on his way." She laughed again. "I don't think he'll be coming back anytime soon." The women all giggled and began to talk about something else.

I tuned them out and pondered what they had said. I wondered what The Chosen was. I thought that perhaps it was a cult of some sort, like The Council of Music (**A/N: See Wandering Child, Chapter 3 for more information on The Council of Music**).

I stood up and casually stretched. I had finished my food, and I brought the plate to the table and put it in the bin of dirty dishes; dishes that I would have to wash.

I began to return to my table when I felt a hand on my shoulder again. I turned around to see M. Rouleau beaming up at me.

"So," He boomed. A few people looked our way. "What do you think of the party, huh? Pretty neat, eh?" He shouldered me in the arm playfully and I nearly fell over.

"Uh, yeah Monsieur," I said quietly. "C'est magnifique." I faked a smile and wondered if I could run away without him noticing. But my hopes were dashed with his next words.

"Come!" His voice was louder than ever. "Let me introduce you to our friends." And he led me to a group of people who were all talking and laughing. I spotted the woman in red among them. I groaned inwardly. I was going to have to do some serious maneuvering if I was going to get out of this one.

He practically pushed me into the center of the group. I felt my cheeks grow hot.

"Monsieur," I began, but I didn't get a chance to finish because the next thing I knew, Monsieur Rouleau was introducing me to everyone.

"This is Mademoiselle Renée Beauregard, and her fiancée, M. Robert Dubois." He gestured to a woman with dark brown hair who was wearing a green dress. She had friendly hazel eyes that twinkled with mirth. I had a feeling that she was a very bubbly person. Her fiancée, Robert was holding her hand protectively and had a very stiff manner. I got the impression that he wasn't always stern; he was just uncomfortable around people he didn't know.

"Bonsoir, Monsieur. Mademoiselle," I greeted them, and curtsied. I knew that there was no way of my being able to run, so I had no choice but to go with the flow.

"And this is Mademoiselle Jacqueline Boise," He gestured to a young woman of about sixteen. I greeted her politely. She nodded at me nervously. She had pale skin and light blond hair that made her look pasty. She hadn't worn any rouge to the party, and it made her skin look like dough.

"And her parents, Mme. Jeanette Boise and her husband, M. Eduard Boise" He gestured to the woman in red and her husband. I inclined my head, but I refused to curtsy to Mme. Jeanette. She had been rude to me earlier, and I do not easily forget when someone insults me

"And finally," M. Rouleau introduced, "My brother-in-law, M. Jacques Didier." He gestured to a tall man who appeared to be in his late twenties, early thirties. He had brown hair and brown eyes, and appeared to be a very serene man, but not stern.

"Bonsoir, Monsieur." I said and curtsied.

"This, everyone." Said M. Rouleau, "Is Mademoiselle Rebecca," He gestured to me, and I felt my face grow hotter than before.

I was lucky that he didn't consider me a servant, because if he had, he would have introduced me as his servant, and that would have not only embarrassed me, but made me look like a liar to Mme. Jeanette. The last thing I needed was an enemy. Especially one who was friends with M. and Mme. Rouleau.

**A/N: Just so everyone knows, I may or may not get to doing any chapter posting/writing on Saturday. I will be busy with family things, etc, etc. Review, please and tell me what you think.**


	5. An Invitation

Child of Freedom

Chapter 5- An Invitation

"So," Mme. Jeanette began. "Where do you come from?" She was trying to appear casual, but I knew that she was really trying to get me to say something embarrassing that she could use against me.

"France," I said bluntly I knew it wasn't true, but there was no way she would be able to tell the difference. I had developed a very convincing French accent during my time there. "Why? Where do you come from?" I challenged.

"Here, of course." She said proudly.

"You come from the Rouleau mansion?" I asked sarcastically.

She blushed and said indignantly, "Of course not! I meant France." And she tucked her hand through her husband's arm. Their daughter, Jacqueline, seemed to feel very out of place, and she blushed, embarrassed, at her mother's rude words.

I decided to change the subject, and asked M. Didier where he came from.

"I was born in France, if that's what you mean." He said. He had a deep voice. "But if you mean my background, I'm not sure where."

"That's all right." I said, trying to be polite. We began a long discussion then about the origins of names. Before I knew it, he had asked me to dance, and I had graciously accepted. The band struck up a waltz, and I had trouble keeping up with the swift and elegant moves of M. Didier.

"M. Didier," I began.

"Please," he said. "Call me Jacques."

"Um, okay, M. Jacques." I said, unsure of what to make of the request.

"Not M. Jacques, just Jacques." He said, and he smiled, showing his pearly white teeth.

"Okay," I said slowly. "Ummm, Jacques, could you slow down a bit? I only learned to dance a few months ago an dam not as good a dancer as you."

"Of course," M. Didier inclined his head, and he slowed down enough for me to be able to dance without looking at my feet and becoming dizzy.

M. Didier and I flew across the dance floor. As Jacques whisked me along, I caught a glimpse of Mme Jeanette. She was glaring at me fiercely and frowning. After about ten more minutes of dancing, M. Didier led me over to one of the small tables. As we passed the others, I caught a glimpse of M. Rouleau. He was smiling knowingly. A warning light went off in my head, but I dismissed it as extremely unlikely.

As soon as we were seated, M. Didier spoke. "Mademoiselle," He addressed me formally. "I am going to be visiting my brother-in-law's home again tomorrow, and I would very much enjoy your company."

I immediately realized that this was this century's version of a date invite. For a moment, I was stunned. I had never been asked out before, and his offer startled me. I quickly gathered my thoughts and made a decision.

"Well," I said slowly. "I'm not sure if my employer would allow that." I said, trying to sound professional.

"I've already spoken with my brother-in-law," he said. "And he has allowed you to take the day off."

"You know that I work for M. Rouleau?" I asked, stunned.

"Of course," He sad. "After all, he is my brother-in-law, and he likes to talk. He's mentioned your cooking on numerous occasions."

I sat there staring at M. Didier with my mouth hanging open like a codfish for a long moment before I quickly snapped it shut. He chuckled.

"As I recall," He continued, "He said you were like the child he never had."

I sat there without saying anything for a long moment. Then I blushed. I had had no idea that M. Rouleau thought of me like a daughter. I smiled.

"Well, then," I said. "I would love to be attend." He smiled. M. Didier seemed like such a pleasant fellow, but I knew from experience that looks can be deceiving.

-

Erik had no idea what to make of it. When Rebecca had come to retrieve the baby, she had asked Erik if he could watch her the next day.

"I can't," Erik said. "She's too much of a hassle."

"Please, Erik?" Rebecca pleaded. "I can't take care of her; I have a date."

"A date?" Erik asked incredulously.

"Yes, a date," she looked at him pointedly. "And you're so good with her. Please?"

Erik sighed. "Fine," he said. "I'll take care of Lynaea."

"Oh, is that what you named her?" Rebecca asked. Erik nodded. "It's pretty." she complemented.

"Yes, well, I couldn't think of anything to name her, so I thought that something different would be nice." He shrugged and rocked Lynaea a little.

"Thank you so much, Erik." Rebecca said, and she hugged me. Then she kissed me on the cheek.

"Ummm..." Erik began, unsure of what to say. "You're welcome." He replied, and set the baby down in the basket.

Rebecca left right away to find something that she could where. The thought suddenly gave Erik an idea.

-

"What?" Pierre asked incredulously as I stood there in the kitchen helping him wash dishes late into the evening.

"You heard me," I said. "I have been given permission to take the day off, and there is someone who is expecting me to meet him."

"Him?" Pierre questioned, raising an eyebrow.

"Yes, him." I replied, rinsing a plate.

"Well, there's no way I'm going to allow you to go spend time with some rich guy-who probably doesn't even care about you-and have you leave me with all the cooking and dishes.

"M. Rouleau is the one who decides that for one," I returned. "And secondly, why do you care who I spend time with?"

"Well, I," Pierre stuttered, and his cheeks turned red with embarrassment.

"Besides," I continued, ignoring his embarrassment. "What makes you think that he doesn't like me? Why else would he ask me?"

"Well, uh," Pierre began. His cheeks turned even redder than before. "Well, you're a pretty girl, and those rich guys just want to make themselves look good by dating, and perhaps marrying, pretty girls." he rubbed the back of his neck with a soapy hand and looked at me sheepishly.

I smiled slightly. "Pierre," I said gently. "You don't have to be worried about me. I'm a big girl. In fact, I'm a young woman; I'm not a little girl anymore. I can take care of myself." I put my hand on his shoulder encouragingly.

"Yeah, I guess so," he said, but he didn't sound very sure of himself. I as about to say something more, but he interrupted me. "Rebecca," he said. "The reason I don't think it's a good idea is because, well, I like you, and I don't want anything bad to happen to you."

It took me a moment to understand his meaning. "Pierre, I'm not going to get hurt or anything like that." I said. "Believe me, I can take care of myself." i didn't mention how he had said he liked me. The truth was, I didn't like him; at least, not in the way he was thinking. I liked him as a friend, but only as a friend. I didn't want to hurt his feelings by saying so, though.

Suddenly, I remembered something that I had heard during the party. "Pierre," asked. "Who are the chosen?"

Pierre's face became clouded with an emotion I could not name. "The Chosen are a certain people who, for reason that no one knows, are taken from their parents at birth." he took in a deep breath, and I had a feeling that he was preparing himself for a long tale.

"A long time ago," he began. "People in France lived in harmony with each other. There was no conflict, and no one argued. Then one day, a child was born. The child was forever asking questions that everyone else thought obvious, and the child was forever going places that he shouldn't have, and messing with things that didn't belong o him, and he never learned that those things were wrong. His parents tried to tell him no, and they even would give him a time out, but nothing seemed to work. So he was cast out of society. He was the first Chosen." Pierre sighed and handed me a dish. I took it from him and rinsed it. "The boy was only the first of many children who were deemed unfit to be a part of society."

"But, I don't understand," I said. "Aren't all kids like that?"

"Now they are," Pierre replied, "But back then, the people believed that if you were disobedient, then you were somehow cursed. The boy would always tell his parents that he was trying to be good, but time and again he would disobey."

"So, why would people mention it nowadays?" I asked.

"Because," Pierre replied, "There are still people who follow the old ways. They are obedient, and they don't question those in authority." he shifted his weight. "And because, if such a child should be born among those who still believe those things, then the child would be cast out. Sometimes, if the mother or father was disobedient even once, any child that person has will be cast out because they believe it to be a curse that is passed on from parent to child." Pierre shrugged suddenly, as though he were trying to get rid of an awful memory.

"So why doesn't anyone do something about this?" I asked.

"Because," Pierre replied. "Not enough people care to make a difference."

**A/N: Well, that was interesting. Review, please and tell me what you think.**


	6. Discoveries

Child of Freedom

Chapter 6- Discoveries

**A/N: This chapter was especially thought through on behalf of TheBlackDove. I know how much you disliked the color of the dress in the last chapter, so I decided to make amendments for that in this chapter. Enjoy!**

-

I was frantic. I wanted to buy a nice dress for my date, but I couldn't one in any shop for the amount of money that I had, which was very little. It was early morning, and I had been up and about since about six in the morning. I returned home at about ten in the morning and went into my room to raid my closet.

As soon as I entered my room, I spotted something on my bed. I went over to the bed, and picked up the object. It was a dress and it was beautiful.

It was pale yellow, and had white lace that trimmed the cuffs and neckline. The bodice had just the right amount of lace so the dress would appear a somewhat fancy. The skirt went down to my feet, and would hug the hips for about an inch before flaring away from my legs.

I held the dress up to myself and looked in the floor-length mirror that was attached to my closet door. The dress looked like it would fit perfectly. I quickly got undressed and tried it on. It fit like a glove.

I turned to look at the bed to see if there was a note that had come with the dress. I spotted something. It was a pair of white gloves and a straw hat that sported a white ribbon and yellow rose.

The whole ensemble was incredible. It fit perfectly with my coloring, and yellow roses were my favorite. I assumed that it was Pierre who had put them in my room. I figured that he was trying to show how, even though he didn't agree with my decision, he supported me. There was only one thing missing. I didn't have any shoes to go with the dress.

I tried searching my closet, but couldn't find anything. Then I looked under the bed. I spotted some, and I pulled them out. They were like glass. I was positive that they weren't actually made of glass because then I wouldn't be able to walk in them, but they were beautiful.

They appeared to be made of glass-as I said earlier-but they weren't. I could tell that expert craftsmanship had gone into the making of the slippers. As I peered closer at them, I saw that there were gold filaments threaded through each slipper. This made the slippers sparkle, as though they had been sprinkled with fairy dust.

For a moment, I felt myself in a fairytale, and I expected to see Peter Pan fly through the window and take me to Neverland. But then I came to my senses. Even if Peter Pan did exist, he wouldn't fly through my window. I was too old.

I strode downstairs wearing the dress and headed for the kitchens to thank Pierre. He was making some sweet tarts, and the flour on his apron was accompanied with some lemon filling. He looked shocked when he saw me.

"You were able to afford that?" He asked, amazed.

"No," I said, startled that he was so surprised. "I thought you had bought it for me."

He shook his head. "I can barely afford my own clothes as it is. I could never afford a dress like that." He turned back to decorating the tarts.

"Oh," I said, embarrassed. Then a thought suddenly came to me. "Of course!" I exclaimed out loud.

"Of course what?" Pierre asked without turning from his work.

"Oh, never mind." I said, and left the room. I knew who it was. I knew that there was only one other person who could have bought me the dress. I didn't know why I hadn't thought of it sooner. Erik was the only person I knew of who would have enough money for a dress like this.

Even though Erik had decided to turn over a new leaf, he still hadn't returned any of the money that he had received from the owners of the Opera Populaire. The choice had been his, but it hadn't exactly made me comfortable. It told me that a part of him still wished that he were the Phantom, and that worried me.

I didn't have time to go and ask Erik about the dress, so I merely went downstairs and to the parlor. There I waited, reading a book, until I heard the bell. I pretended to not have heard the bell, and continued to read the book in my hands.

M. Didier came in and looked over my shoulder. I looked up and put down my book.

"Bonjour, Monsieur." I greeted him.

"Bonjour, Mademoiselle," He returned the greeting and kissed my hand. I couldn't help but blush. I had thought that this meeting would be more like those of the twenty-first century. I had forgotten that it was the year 1870.

M. Didier sat down across from me and accepted the cup of tea that the maid handed him. He took a gentlemanly sip and set the cup down on the saucer. We sat there in comfortable silence as we waited for the maid.

Suddenly, M. Rouleau came bustling in. He sat down in the chair that was to my left, and blew on his tea.

"So," he began, "What are we talking about?" He looked from me to M. Didier. Neither of us said anything for a long while.

"So where exactly do you come from?" M. Didier asked me.

"What makes you so sure that I'm not French?" I asked slyly. M. Rouleau smiled knowingly. I didn't understand why.

"Because," M. Didier remarked, "Your name is not French." M. Rouleau continued to smile knowingly. It was getting on my nerves. "As well," M. Didier continued. "Though you have a convincing accent, it is not as strong as that of a true Frenchman."

"You mean, Frenchwoman," I countered. M. Didier smiled.

"Of course," he said.

Suddenly, M. Didier's smile didn't seem all that friendly. It seemed fixed to his face. I glanced at M. Rouleau, and his smile no longer seemed knowing. Now it seemed as though he were taunting me with an answer to a question that I had yet to ask. I realized with growing apprehension that I had been extremely naïve to think that there would never again be someone who would want to hurt me. I had been fooled, and I had accepted what I had been given without question. I felt my cheeks grow a little warm with embarrassment.

"Why don't we go and sit outside?" M. Didier suggested, smiling that same plastic smile. His mouth showed a tightness to it, but otherwise it seemed happy. His eyes, however, gave away his true feelings. He was repulsed by me, and I did not understand why.

"Yes, thank you," I replied, grateful that we would be out in the open where there would be more room to maneuver, should a problem arise.

I followed M. Didier outside. M. Rouleau said he wasn't feeling well and would retire to his bedroom so he could rest.

I sat down on the grass outside the house and sighed in relief. I felt more at ease outside, but I wasn't going to let myself be caught unaware.

"So, Mademoiselle," M. Didier addressed me. "Where are you really from?"

What was I supposed to tell him? I suddenly came up with a wonderful idea. "I was born in England, Monsieur." I said.

"Really?" He asked, seemingly interested. I nodded. He seemed to think this through for a moment before reaching a conclusion.

"Have you ever heard of a group called, The Servants?" He asked me quietly. It wasn't a frightened quiet, or even a tender quiet. It was a menacing quiet.

I shook my head. "No," I whispered almost inaudibly.

"They are a group of people who serve God, just as you do," he began. I noticed that he said 'you' and not 'we'. "But there is one small difference between them and you." He smiled cruelly, and I was so afraid that my heart nearly stopped beating.

"The Servants are obedient to God's will, and the rest of you are not." M. Didier stood up from where he had been sitting on a bench and reached out a hand to help me up. I stood up without his help and took two steps back. I had a bad feeling about him.

**A/N: Please review. I just had an idea for a new story that I will write & post while I'm writing and posting this one. I will call it: _The Life and Times of Raoul, The Fop_. It will become a timeless classic and everywhere around the world, phangirls will rejoice as the ultimate humiliation of the Fop is read aloud daily! (I'm done ranting now.)**


	7. Escape

Child of Freedom

Chapter 7- Escape

**A/N: Concerning the previous chapter, I know some of you out there may have been a little concerned with the content of the last few paragraphs. Some of you may not be Christians, or even believe in God. The reason that I put that in the chapter is because, back then, almost everyone believed in God. My point is to say that I wasn't trying to offend anybody. So, if I did, I'm sorry. I'm not trying to force anyone to believe in God when they don't want to or anything like that.**

-

I took another step back. "What do you mean, 'the rest of us are not'?" I asked, becoming a little angry.

"I mean," M. Didier said, taking a step towards me. I took another three steps back. "That The Servants obey those in authority, the way the Bible says to. The rest of the population does not."

"And why does this concern me?" I asked. M. Didier smiled again, but this time it was with an emotion that I could not name.

"You will see," M. Didier replied, and he grabbed my arm. In an instant, I knew the emotion on his face: It was greed. I tried to step on M. Didier's foot. He moved it away, and tightened his grip on my arm.

"You think you're so great, Hot Stuff," I growled at him. "Well, a great man would be able to withstand this!" And I kicked him in the nuts. He immediately let go of my arm and put his hands to his groin. He fell down on his knees. I figured he would soon be trying to use his 'awesome powers' to 'strike me down' or something.

Instead of waiting for whatever he was trying to do to work, I ran. I raced through the flower gardens, past the tree and shrub garden, and through the kitchen garden. I ran straight through the kitchen doors and crashed into Pierre.

"What's going on?" He asked me, concern in his brown eyes.

"Pierre," I said. "Was there a name for those people that would get rid of their children if they were disobedient?" I took deep gulps of air to steady myself. Every nerve was on alert.

"Yeah," He replied. "They were called The Servants because they believed they were doing God's work. Stupid, isn't it?" He chuckled softly. For a moment, I thought I could hear M. Didier coming.

"Pierre," I said. "This isn't the time for silly games. That stuff is real, and M. Didier is one of them!"

Pierre's face grew grim. "Then that must mean that M. Rouleau..." Pierre's sentence trailed away as he realized the magnitude of the situation. I nodded.

"We have to get out of here," I said.

"Let's use the back door," Pierre made for the door that I had come through.

"No!" I cried, grabbing his arm. "This way!" I lead Pierre through the double doors of the kitchen. We nearly fell over when we crashed straight into Mme. Rouleau.

"Oh, Madame," I said, trying to catch my breath. "We didn't see you there! Excuse us." And we ran past the confused woman.

"How are we going to get out of here?" Pierre panted.

"I know a way." I said.

"A way to a place where they will never find us?" He asked disbelievingly. I nodded, and continued to run.

I ran out the front door and nearly got hit by a cart that was trying to cross the street. The owner yelled some swears at us in French. We didn't look back.

"It's this way!" I called to Pierre, who was only just behind me. I led him to the Notre Dame Cathedral.

"Uh, believe it or not," Pierre began as I halted briefly inside the Cathedral. "We may be in more danger here, not less."

"Good, there isn't a congregation in here," I said, and headed through the door of the sanctuary.

"Why is that good?" Pierre asked. I ignored him and looked around to make sure that there wasn't anyone watching.

"Now you have to swear that you won't tell a soul about what I am about to show you." I said solemnly. Pierre nodded.

"I swear," he said.

I looked in his eyes to see if he was lying. He was telling the truth, I could tell. The look in his eyes was sincere.

I took one last look around the sanctuary before sliding away the stone that hid the secret passage. I motioned for Pierre to go down first. He cautiously made his way down. I checked to make sure no one was watching before I crawled into the opening as well, and slid the stone back into place.

We were instantly surrounded by dark. I could hear water dripping from somewhere nearby.

"Rebecca?" Pierre whispered. "How are we going to get to a place of safety?" His voice quivered.

"Don't worry," I assured him. "I have a plan." Then I removed form around my neck the little pouch that hung from a gold chain. I opened the pouch in the dark and pulled out a whistle.

"This is going to sound really loud," I said. "So I suggest you cover your ears." I waited a moment before bringing the whistle to my lips.

-

Erik was singing baby Lynaea to sleep when he heard a shrill sound echo through the tunnels. It was the whistle that he had given Rebecca to use in times of need. Erik waited a moment longer. The shrill sound came again. Erik knew that one blow of the whistle meant she was alone, two meant there was one person with her, three meant there were two people with her, etc.

Erik wrapped Lynaea in a blanket and put her in the basket. Then he took her with him to the place where they had prearranged her to end up, should a problem arise and she needed his help.

Erik brought with him a torch. As he neared the spot, he heard someone whisper, "Someone's coming! Hide!"

Then Erik heard Rebecca's voice. "You don't need to hide, Pierre. It's just my friend. He helps me. Don't worry. He's only dangerous if you piss him off." Erik smiled at that comment. It was true. He could be very dangerous if you pissed him off.

"Rebecca?" Erik called softly.

"Erik!" She replied. "We're around the corner."

Erik followed the wall until he turned the corner. Rebecca was standing there, smiling in relief. Beside her was a very frightened young man. He had dark hair that looked almost black, and his eyes were brown. He had a bit of a pointed noise, and was tall and thin. The young man wore a pair of trousers and a plain tunic made of coarse material. Over his clothes he had on an apron that had some flour stains, as well as the stains of some sort of jelly.

Rebecca was wearing the dress. She smiled shyly at him when she caught him admiring it.

"Thank you for the dress, Erik," she said. "It really was very sweet of you to think of me." Then she turned to the young man, who suddenly stood up tall. Erik realized it was because the man wanted to appear taller than Erik himself.

"This is Pierre," Rebecca introduced the slight, nervous, young man. Erik nodded a greeting.

"Whoever you are, you better keep away from Rebecca," Pierre ordered, and took a step forward. He put his arm protectively around Rebecca. Rebecca shrugged his arm off and Pierre's face took on a hurt expression before he straightened up and glared at Erik defiantly.

"I see your date didn't go as planned." Erik observed, ignoring Pierre.

Rebecca's eyes clouded over. "No." She said flatly. "The man who had invited me turned out to be one of The Servants." She frowned and her brow furrowed in worry.

"Who are The Servants?" Erik asked, confused.

"They are a group of people who believe that, if you don't obey the rules and orders set in place, then you are evil, or something." Pierre replied for Rebecca. "If someone, say a child, is disobedient too many times, they will turn the child away. If a parent is disobedient even once, then they will be given a warning, and the child will be cast out."

"Why will the child be cast out and not the parent?" Erik asked.

"Because," Rebecca replied, "They believe that, if one or both of the parents are disobedient, then the child will inherit the disobedient quality." Her hands became fists at her sides. "They are so evil!" She cried.

"We can continue this conversation later," Erik said quickly, hearing sounds above their heads. Pierre glanced up fervently and closed his eyes. "Follow me," Erik beckoned to the pair, and the three of them quietly traveled the tunnels.

As soon as Erik arrived at his house, he put the basket with baby Lynaea down on a table. Rebecca picked up the baby and cooed to her. She held Lynaea in her arms and rocked her, humming softly.

"You left the baby with him?" Pierre asked incredulously.

"Yeah, so?" Rebecca asked. Erik ignored them for a moment and sat down on the couch to think.

"So," Pierre said. "So, it seems to me that the guy doesn't know the first thing about taking care of a baby."

"Well, I do, and I showed him how." Rebecca said defensively. "And her name is Lynaea."

"Who came up with that?" Pierre scoffed.

"I did," Erik stood up to his full height and strolled over to where Pierre was standing. Erik towered over the slight young man, and he noticed that Pierre began to sweat. "Do you have a problem with the name?" Erik asked, raising an eyebrow.

"No, no problem." Pierre stammered.

"Good," Erik said. "Because if you did, I have a lasso, and I'm not afraid to use it." Erik smiled and him and Pierre cowered in fear.

"Stop that!" Rebecca said, and took hold of Erik's arm. She steered him away from Pierre, who looked ready to faint, and looked up at him sternly. "Erik," she said. "You know better than to threaten. People know not to make you angry without you needing to tell them." he winced. She had been trying to make it sound polite, but Erik knew what she was trying to say.

"I'll find a place for you're friend to stay while you two are here." Erik said. "In the meantime, you can stay in the room with the swan bed." He had lowered his voice for the last part so the wuss in the corner wouldn't hear.

Rebecca's forehead furrowed in concern. "Are you sure?" She asked him. Erik nodded. "Okay," she said, and headed to the room where Christine had stayed.

**A/N: I hope you liked that chapter. Please review and tell me what you think.**


	8. Love

Child of Freedom

Chapter 8- Love

I took off my hat and shoes as I entered the bedroom and plopped down on the swan bed. It was so soft that I nearly drowned in it. I started to giggle like a little girl; I couldn't help myself. I stood up warily on the bed and jumped once. It was a light jump, but because of the soft, springiness, of the bed, I jumped several inches into the air. I started to jump up and down on the bed. As a child, I had been forbidden to jump on my bed at home, and I couldn't resist doing so on the springy mattress of this one.

After several long minutes, I stopped jumping and sat down on the bed. I was feeling a bit breathless and slightly light-headed. I giggled crazily. Lynaea cooed from her basket, and I stood up slowly. I came over and picked her up.

Erik came in just then. I smiled at him. He seemed to be looking at me strangely.

"Is something the matter, Erik?" I asked, concerned.

He seemed to realize where he was and shook his head. "Uh, no. I just came to ask you what you would like for dinner."

"Whatever you make will be fine," I said. Then, as an afterthought, I added, "Except beans, or chili. I don't want you two men stinking up the place. Otherwise, the owners will have to send someone down here to fumigate." I smiled and put Lynaea back in her basket. I made a mental note of going shopping for a bassinet as soon as I had the time.

"Alright," Erik smiled at me. I didn't think I had ever seen him smile sincerely before. I had only seen him smile at others either mockingly, or cruelly.

"I like it when you smile, Erik," I told him. "You look good when you smile." Erik's smile fell from his face at my words.

"I'll call you when dinner is ready," he said shortly and turned to leave.

"Erik," I called as he made for the door. "Wait." Erik stopped and stood with his back to me. "Erik, are you all right?" I asked, concerned.

"I'm fine," he replied curtly, and put his hand on the doorknob.

"You don't seem fine," I said. Erik's hand rested on the doorknob. "I'm worried about you, Erik," I began. "You've been acting strangely lately."

"I'm fine," Erik repeated. Then he added as an afterthought, "And I'm not the one who's been acting strangely." His voice rose slightly.

"Yes, you are," I corrected. "It seems that every time I try to comfort you, you shrug my words off and tell yourself that I'm only saying it to be nice or something like that. I'm beginning to think that you like being miserable." I put my hands on my hips for emphasis. "Don't you want to be happy?" I asked softly.

"I can never be happy like this," Erik said bitterly.

"Erik," I said, "You need to realize that life is not always going to go the way you want it to. Bad things sometimes happen to good people." I looked at him with concern. "And you need to realize that beauty is only skin deep. Those people out there who are so pretty," I pointed in a random direction. "They may be pretty, and everyone may love them, but that love isn't even real. People love them because they're beautiful, not because they're nice, or smart, or fun to be around. Those people, they don't even love themselves." I took Erik by the arm and turned him to face me. I was a little surprised that he didn't resist. But when I saw the hopelessness in his eyes, I knew why.

"Erik," I whispered. "You have been given the opportunity of a lifetime. You have the chance to be able to know how people really are. You get to know if a person is superficial, or if they care about you because of who you are as a person, and not about how you look."

Erik looked down at me sadly. "You don't know what it's like to be ugly," he said. "People see what they want to. They don't give themselves a chance to know me before they run from me in terror." I thought I saw tears in his eyes, but the next moment, his eyes were dry.

"Erik," I said. I put a hand to his left cheek. "Did I do that?" Slowly, Erik shook his head. "If I can appreciate you for who you are, then what makes you think that other people can't?"

"Gee," he said sarcastically. "Perhaps it would be my face?" He pointed to his mask.

"Erik," I said, sitting him down on the bed. Then I sat down beside him. "The only way you would ever be able to change the way you looked would be if you lived in the twenty-first century."

Erik's eyes gleamed suddenly and he grabbed my shoulders. "Do you still have the time machine?" He asked. Desperation was in his eyes, and his face loomed close to mine.

-

Erik looked at Rebecca, fervently hoping that she still had it.

"No way, Erik." She said, putting her hands up in front of her for emphasis. "There's no way I'm going to let you use the time machine. You could end up sleeping with the cave men." She shook her head vigorously.

"Please," Erik begged. "Please, let me have a chance at a normal life." Erik's eyes were pleading. "I want to get married," He said suddenly.

"Excuse me?" Rebecca asked, misinterpreting his meaning.

"I want fall in love and get married," he said. "I want to be a real person with a real life. I don't want to be a freak anymore!" He was shaking all over. Erik didn't yet want to consciously admit it, but he loved Rebecca, and he wanted to be normal, so she would love him too.

"Erik," she said. "If you went to the twenty-first century, you wouldn't have anymore peace than you do now. In fact, you would probably have less. Besides," She added. "I don't remember any of the combinations anymore."

Erik hung his head in defeat and released Rebecca's shoulder's. "Hey," she said, lifting his chin. "It's not the end of the world. I'm still your friend." She smiled at him.

Erik said nothing. He lifted his hand to stroke her cheek, but let it fall before it even reached her. He hung his head again. Nothing she could say or do would make him feel better.

-

I lifted Erik's chin again. For some reason, my heart was pounding in my chest with nervousness. I looked Erik in the eye. His green eyes sparkled with sadness. My eyes traveled down his nose, which was very nicely shaped, and to his mouth. I leaned forward and gently pressed my lips to his.

He seemed shocked by my actions and quickly pulled away. I looked at him and I saw the surprise in his eyes. But I also saw a tenderness there that warmed my heart. Erik put his hands on my cheeks and kissed me full on the mouth. I wrapped my arms around his neck, and the kiss deepened.

My head was reeling with an emotion that I couldn't name. The kiss had me so confused, but instead of trying to sort out my thoughts, I stopped thinking about why I was feeling what I was feeling and just let him kiss me.

-

Pierre was sitting at the table in Erik's kitchen and he was feeling very frustrated. Erik was acting all macho and it was pissing Pierre off. He was also very hungry, and Erik had forbidden him to even attempt to make any food.

It wasn't that Pierre was a weenie or anything like that. Oh, no. It was the fact that Erik was so tall and intimidating. He thought that even the bravest knight would be frightened of Erik.

Pierre was getting even more frustrated than before, so he left the kitchen and went to find Rebecca. Maybe she could talk some sense into that bully.

As he neared the bedroom where he thought he had seen Rebecca enter, Pierre heard voices. It was Rebecca and Erik. He put his ear to the door to listen.

He heard a bunch of mushy stuff that Rebecca was saying to Erik about how he shouldn't feel bad about his face, yadda, yadda. It gave Pierre a little satisfaction to know that Erik wasn't as macho as he acted.

Then Pierre heard something that nearly made his head fall off. He heard Rebecca say to Erik, "The only way you would ever be able to change the way you look would be if you lived in the twenty-first century."

Erik's response to that was the thing that really surprised Pierre. "Do you still have the time machine?" Erik asked. Pierre wasn't able to pay much more attention to their conversation. His head was reeling with what he had just heard.

After several long moments, Pierre realized that the two people behind the door had grown quiet. Then Pierre heard Rebecca say, "It's not the end of the world. I'm still your friend." Then everything was very quiet.

Pierre couldn't take it anymore. He had to know what Erik had meant about a time machine. Pierre opened the door very suddenly and stopped short. There, sitting on the bed, was Rebecca, and she was kissing Erik! How dare that monster touch Rebecca! He would give him a piece of his mind!

**A/N: I hope you liked that. It's so romantic! Review, please!**


	9. A Duel

Child of Freedom

Chapter 9- A Duel

**A/N: Just a reminder that Erik looks like Gerard Butler.**

-

I noticed his presence almost immediately, and broke the kiss.

"Pierre!" I exclaimed. "What are you doing here?" I nervously tucked my shoulder-length blond hair behind my ears.

Pierre stared at us dumbly. Then he pointed to me. "You!" he exclaimed stupidly. Then he pointed to Erik. "And you!" He exclaimed again. "You were..." his sentence trailed away and he stared at us for several long moments before realizing that we were waiting for him to say something intelligent.

Pierre pointed to Erik. "I challenge you to a duel," he said angrily. "The winner gets Rebecca." He sounded very angry.

"Excuse me?" I asked, standing up and putting my hands on my hips. "You can't just use me as a betting tool. I am **NOT **an object that you can just hand over to someone. I make my own decisions." I regarded him sternly.

Erik stood up as well. "Counter offer," he said. "We duel. If I win, you have to stop antagonizing me, and stop acting as though Rebecca belongs to you, or something."

Here I interrupted him. "He has to stop treating me like that anyway," I said.

"If you win," Erik continued. "Then I will leave you alone and won't pummel you. Have you forgotten about my lasso?" Erik took a menacing step toward Pierre, who, surprisingly, stood his ground.

"You can't intimidate me any longer." Pierre said, crossing his arms. "I know all about your pathetic, wimpiness regarding your face." He smiled smugly. Erik took another step towards him.

Now I was angry. I came up to Pierre and slapped him hard. "How dare you even consider for one second that you can insult Erik and get away with it!" I fumed. "I have a mind to put you in the torture chamber!"

"The what?" Pierre asked, suddenly nervous.

"Rebecca," Erik said softly, putting a hand on my shoulder.

"Alright," I said, understanding his meaning. He didn't want other people to know about the torture chamber.

"We duel." Pierre stated, rubbing his cheek. "If you win, I have to leave Rebecca alone. If **I** win, **you** have to leave Rebecca alone." He folded his arms across his chest.

"Listen here," I said. "It's not up to you to decide who does or doesn't leave me alone. I want **you** to leave me alone, and I want Erik to **not** leave me alone." I folded my arms across my chest. "I thought we were friends." I said. "It seems I was wrong. I wish I had never brought you here." I turned my back on Pierre and sat on the swan bed.

"Fine." Erik said to Pierre. "We duel."

Pierre nodded. "But let's make it a little more interesting." He smiled slyly. "Let's make it to the death."

I gasped and looked up to see Erik's reaction. Erik nodded slowly. "Alright." He said, and he led the way outside. I followed Pierre and Erik and saw Erik lift two swords from a case that rested on the mantle of the fireplace in the parlor.

"Erik," I said, catching up to walk beside him. It was difficult to match his purposeful stride. "You aren't seriously going to duel to the death, are you?" I asked, worry creasing my brow.

He stopped for a moment and looked at me tenderly. "You don't need to worry," He said. He bent down near my ear. "I won't kill him." Then he kept on going.

"Erik!" I called, and rushed to keep up. I was barefoot, and my dress was so long that I needed to pick it up just to walk. The skirt tore on the door to the tunnels.

Beside the lake was the beach where Erik and I had first met, and it was there that Erik stopped and handed Pierre his sword.

"We stand back-to-back and then walk three paces. Then we turn around." He said. Pierre nodded, and they turned their backs to each other.

"One, two, three." Erik counted as they both took their steps, and then they turned around.

Pierre was no longer wearing his apron, so he didn't look as comical as he would have had he been wearing it. Erik was wearing his black pants and his white shirt that was slightly open to reveal some of his chest. He was, of course, wearing his white mask, and his black hair was slicked back.

The two men circled each other for a time. I stood a ways away so I didn't get in the way of the their swords

"You may appear young," Pierre said. "But I know you're not, old man." He smiled and lashed out with his sword. Erik blocked the attack easily and made a jab at Pierre, who parried the blow.

"You think I haven't heard the stories?" Pierre growled as he and Erik's swords tangled, and their faces were less than a hand's breadth away. "Everyone talks about the Phantom of the Opera, and how he kidnapped a young soprano." Pierre said as he and Erik's swords broke apart and they circled each other again. Both men were already sweating bullets.

Erik attack Pierre, but the cook blocked the blow with his sword. "They say," He taunted. "That The Phantom of the opera stole millions of francs from the Opera House owners. I know it was you."

Like a snake darting towards its prey, Pierre's sword lashed out. Erik tried to block it, but his reflexes were a little slow; Pierre's words had hit home. Pierre's sword sank in to Erik's shoulder. Erik gasped in pain, but held his own.

Tears began to roll down my cheeks. I wanted so much to go and stop the fight, but I felt sure that Erik would be too distracted by my presence, and that would endanger him more than the injury.

Erik didn't let go of his sword, and he held it high in a defense position. His left arm was now useless.

"You're weak, old man," Pierre taunted. Erik didn't reply, and even as I worried for his life, I was proud that he was strong enough not to respond. I didn't want to think that his silence might just mean that he didn't have the energy.

Pierre attacked in a flurry of moves that left me wondering where he was going to end up. Erik blocked the first three moves, and then parried the next one.

I was so scared. I took a step back, mindful that the waves of the lake were lapping up against my bare toes.

-

Sweat rolled down Erik's face. His left shoulder throbbed in pain as his opponent practically danced around him with glee. Erik was surprised at how well trained the cook was in fencing. He had thought it was going to be easy. Obviously, he had underestimated Pierre's ability.

But Erik knew that he had reserves of strength that he had not yet tapped.

Erik tapped into those reserves, and, with a sudden burst of energy, he blocked Pierre's next blow, and returned it with a volley of attacks.

Pierre had trouble keeping up and staggered backwards. "Who's weak now?" Erik couldn't help but taunt. Pierre's face contorted with rage, and he attacked Erik viciously with a series of blows that left Erik breathing hard and trying to gather his bearings and still fight.

All of a sudden, Erik heard a scream. He turned his head in time to see Rebecca fall into the waves, before searing pain appeared in his torso. He turned back and saw Pierre's triumphant smile, and the man's sword was stuck in Erik's stomach. Erik stared at the metal beast dumbly before Pierre viciously yanked it out.

Erik felt tingly all over, and his vision was getting dark. He slumped down onto the sandy beach with blood oozing from the gaping wound in his stomach. His last thought before passing out was: **_What about Rebecca?_**

-

I was soaked from head to toe, but I was alive. I had slipped on the slippery sand and fallen in the water, but I had used the swimming techniques that Erik had taught me to get to the surface.

As soon as I reached the beach, I saw Pierre wiping his sword off on Erik's chest, and there was a gaping wound in his stomach.

"ERIK!" I screamed and ran over to him. I pressed my hands to the wound, trying to stop the bleeding. My hands were soon coated in his blood.

Pierre grabbed my arm and tried to pull me away, but I slapped him hard and kicked him in the nuts. I punched and kicked Pierre several times before leaving him alone so I could see to Erik.

"Erik," I whispered. "Erik, can you hear me?" I tore a strip of my dress and used it as a tourniquet on Erik's shoulder wound. It wouldn't do much, but it might help.

"Erik, please," I begged. Warm tears trickled down my cheeks, and I wiped my eyes angrily. "Erik, you can't leave me. Please," I looked up and briefly noticed that Pierre was gone. I didn't care.

From inside the house, I heard Lynaea cry. It seemed that she, too, was mourning Erik.

**A/N: Don't worry! Erik isn't dead. Review, please.**


	10. The Ultimate Betrayal

Child of Freedom

Chapter 10- The Ultimate Betrayal

**_It was a_ _good thing that I left a trail to follow_**, Pierre thought as he followed a trail of string. For some reason he always kept bits of string in his pockets, and they had finally come in handy.

Pierre followed the trail until he came to dead end. He shined the torch in his hands on the roof. Lynaea cooed softly from inside the covered basket that Pierre held swung along his arm.

Pierre put the basket down on the ground and pushed the stone covering away. Then he carried himself and the basket up through the opening. Carefully, he closed the covering so it wouldn't echo through the tunnels below.

As soon as the covering was in place, Pierre put out the torch and left it under a pew in the sanctuary of the Notre Dame Cathedral. Then he picked up the basket and left the building.

-

Jacques Didier was **not** happy. Not only had The Hidden One been found, by the most unlikely of people, who now had her tucked away somewhere where he couldn't find her, but he had also had to break the news to his Master, who wasn't in the least bit happy to hear it.

Jacques recalled the conversation with distaste. He had personally seen to it that his Master get the report. He had refused to allow anyone else to deliver the message.

**_When he arrived, his Master was wearing a bathrobe, sitting casually in a comfortable, plush, armchair. A maid was filing his nails._**

_**"Jacques Didier reporting, Master," he said, standing up straight. His master shooed away the maid.**_

_**"Well," he said. "What do you have to report?"**_

_**"I'm sorry, Master," Jacques said. "But The Hidden One was, well, hidden from us. We have no idea where her captor is and that faithless cook went with her. I think he has a crush on her." He bowed his head. "Forgive me, Master."**_

_**His Master's eyes flashed. "You're sorry?" He asked, standing up.**_

_**Jacques cowered against the doorframe. "There wasn't anything I could do to stop her," he whimpered. "She found the baby, like the cook said, but then she gave it to a babysitter, and he hasn't seen it since, although I'm sure that that girl as it." He shook with fear.**_

_**His Master was a slight man with colorless, white eyes and dark skin. Anyone who didn't look too closely would think that there was something different, or wrong with him. But those who did look closely would see that the man was blind. The scary thing was, though, that his hearing was so well defined that he would know where you were in the room, even if you were behind something. The man's hair was black, and his bathrobe was brown.**_

_**"Perhaps that cook will come through, after all, Master," Jacques whimpered when his master didn't say anything.**_

_**"Perhaps," was all his Master said. His Master waved a hand, and Jacques backed out the room, and left the building.**_

Jacques was pulled out of his thoughts by the doorbell to his brother-in-law's house ringing. The butler then led in the cook, Pierre. On the cook's arm was a covered basket.

"What did you do, steal the kidnapper's lunch?" Jacques asked sarcastically.

"Very funny," Pierre returned with his own sarcasm. He held up the basket. "I've brought something that belongs to The Master." He set the basket down on a side table and lifted the cover top. Inside, a round, brown face and big brown eyes, topped with tufts of black hair greeted Jacques.

He exclaimed in delight at this turn of events, and picked up the sleepy baby. He held her in his arms and let her suck on his finger tiredly. His Master would be very pleased.

"And that's not all," Pierre added, taking a seat. "I also know where her kidnapper is hiding." He smiled.

Jacques looked him with surprise. His Master would be very pleased, indeed. "I can lead some men there right now, if you'd like." Pierre offered. Then he exclaimed. "Oh! I almost forgot. I know who the babysitter is, and he's probably dead by now." He smiled triumphantly. "He was previously known as, The Phantom of the Opera, or Opera Ghost, and his real name is Erik. He lives underneath the Notre Dame Cathedral."

"This is news," Jacques mused, putting the baby back in the basket. "I'm surprised at you. I thought for sure that you had run off with that little floozy." Pierre turned re at this comment, but didn't respond.

Jacques stood up. "First I must tell My Master the news and bring him The Hidden One," he said.

"Erik and Rebecca call her Lynaea," Pierre commented.

"But that is not her name, remember?" Jacques asked sternly.

"Yes Monsieur." Pierre bowed his head. Then he looked up. "Might I come with," he asked. "Seeing as how I was the one who found her and told you all of this?"

"Very well," Jacques replied. They left immediately and headed for the Master's home.

--

Jacques checked himself before he entered the room in which his Master sat. Then he entered, with Pierre following. Jacques held the basket that contained the Hidden One.

"What is it now?" His Master asked without hesitation.

Jacques held out the basket. His Master took it and looked inside. The look on his face was one of sheer relief. He picked up the baby and held her in his arms. She seemed to know who it was that held her, and reached out her chubby little arms to his face. He put his face near that of the baby's, and she giggled as he let her touch his nose, eyes, and mouth.

"Um, Master?" Jacques asked, embarrassed. He had never seen his Master act so... nicely to someone. Jacques realized it was a baby, but really it was very strange behavior for his Master.

For some reason, the fact that his Master had a heart didn't comfort him. It only made him more afraid. The reason being that, if wronged, his Master was capable of hatred, and from hatred comes revenge. Revenge from someone without a heart is painful; revenge from someone with a heart is agony.

His Master put the baby in a bassinet that sat near the open window and faced the two men.

"Who found her?" He asked immediately and angrily.

"I did, Monsieur," Pierre offered tentatively. The Master beckoned to a servant. The servant approached and bent his head to hear what His Master had to say. The servant nodded and led Pierre out of the room. Jacques was left alone with his Master.

"Did you learn the location of the kidnapper's whereabouts?" His Master asked him. Jacques nodded, but then remembered that his Master couldn't see.

"Yes," he said.

"Good," his Master nodded his head. "You will go with some guards and find the kidnapper and bring her here." His white eyes glinted. "I want her alive," he said.

"Yes, Master." Jacques replied.

"What about the other one?" He asked. "Pierre mentioned another one named Erik, who was the former Phantom of the Opera."

"Send him to prison for all I care," was his Master's reply. "But bring me that girl."

"Yes, Master," Jacques bowed to his Master and made his way outside. Pierre was waiting for him with a troop of men.

Pierre led them to the Notre Dame Cathedral and into the entrance to the tunnels. He led the way through the intricate maze, following the trail of string that he had left.

They came to an opening in the tunnels, where they heard someone sobbing and calling the name, Erik.

Jacques glanced at Pierre's face. It was pale against the light of the torch, mingled with the faint light that was streaming through the opening. With a tight mouth and a determined air, he stepped through the opening, and into the light.

**A/N: Okay, the ending was a bit corny, but I did my best. And when I said, "into the light," I wasn't meaning that he was doing the right thing. I just meant that it was brighter through the opening. Alrighty then. Review and tell me what you think.**


	11. The Deal

Child of Freedom

Chapter 11- The Deal

**A/N: Just so everyone knows, when there are 2 dashes, it means it's still the same person's perspective; I've just skipped a few minutes. When there is one dash, it means it's a different person's perspective.**

-

"No," I sobbed over Erik's chest. "Erik, please," I begged him. "Please, don't go." I was soaked in his blood. It was all over the beautiful dress that he had bought me, and all over me. I didn't care.

I didn't even notice the men until I was surrounded with swords pointed at my throat. I looked up and turned around, wondering what was going on. Then I saw M. Didier among the men, and behind him, a tight-lipped Pierre.

I narrowed my eyes at him. He seemed to shrink under my gaze. One of the men grabbed me and tied my hands behind my back.

"You," I spat. "You bastard!" I screamed and kicked as I struggled in the soldier's iron grip. "I'll kill you for this!" Pierre's face turned ashen at my words. "Do you hear me!" I screamed. "I'm going to kill you, if it's the last thing I do!" Then I saw that they were picking Erik up and carrying him towards the exit.

"YOU BASTARDS!" I screamed at them. "Leave him alone!" I kicked and struggled, but received a blow to the head that knocked me unconscious.

--

When I came to, I was shaking all over. At first I thought I was sick. Then I realized it wasn't me. I was in a covered wagon and was being carted away to who-knows-where.

I carefully turned my head to look around me. I didn't see Erik. I sat up and a wave of nausea hit me. I had to steady myself before I could move around. The ceiling was low, and around me there were wooden crates, each marked with a red x.

I was about to try to open one, when the cart stopped moving. Before I had time to react, the doors were swung open. Two guards came in and grabbed my arms. I tried to kick them in the nuts (that always seems to work in this century. Glad there aren't any female guards. Then I would have a hard time of it.), but they saw it coming, and avoided it.

I was dragged towards an enormous mansion that reminded me of the Whitehouse in the US. I remembered that the Whitehouse was burned down in the war of 1812. That was long ago. The two guards dragged me inside and threw me down on the floor.

"Why are her hands not tied?" An angry voice asked. I stood up in time to see a guard near me come forward with a rope. I kicked him in the crotch, and he fell down. Two more guards grabbed me by the shoulders and held me while a third tied my hands behind my back.

"We are sorry, Master," one guard said. I looked up and saw who they were talking to.

There was a man in front of me, and he was dressed all in black. His skin was a dark brown color, and his hair was black. His eyes were...nothing. There was absolutely no color to them at all. They were completely white. I thought that perhaps he was blind.

"Finally," The man murmured. "Now I get to meet you face to face." He took a few steps towards me.

"Who the hell are you," I began. "And where is Erik?" My voice rose slightly when I thought of Erik's still, pale, form. He was normally quite pale, but he had become even paler due to such a dramatic loss of blood.

"Me?" He asked. "My name is of no consequence. However, you can call me Master, or you can call me Monsieur. The choice is yours. To answer your second question, I have absolutely no idea what my associate-" Here he gestured to M. Didier. "Did with him. You'll have to ask him that," he paused. "Now **I** get to ask a question." He said, and he rubbed his hands together like an eager child.

"Who are you, and why did you kidnap the Hidden One?" He asked.

"My name is of no consequence." I mocked. "As for your other question, I have absolutely no idea who you're talking about."

"This," the man replied, "Is what I am talking about." And he gently lifted a baby out of a bassinet.

"Lynaea!" I cried. I narrowed my eyes at him. "Why did you take her?" I demanded. "She doesn't belong to you."

"On the contrary," the man said. "She does." He held Lynaea in his arms and rocked her a little.

"She is the daughter of my late sister. The child's father, Isaac Gregoire, was a drunkard, and right before she died, my sister made me promise not to let him have the child. You see, the man has a bit of a problem with children," he paused. He seemed to be searching for the right words. "He-how shall I put this? He loves children, if you get my drift. And his own daughter would be no exception. I did what my sister asked and hid the child away under the supervision of M. Rouleau, M. Didier, and your friend, Pierre. They are my most trusted servants, and would die for me. Although, should it come to that, they wouldn't have a choice." Here, he smiled at M. Didier and Pierre.

"And you expect me to believe that?" I asked incredulously. Then I had an idea. "Alright," I said. "If you're telling the truth, prove it to me."

"I don't have to prove anything to you," he replied, putting Lynaea back in the bassinet.

"Then I'll report you to the police," I replied.

"Go ahead," the man replied, smiling. "I own the police. Literally."

I was taken aback. "What?" I asked, confused.

"Now it's time for you to answer my question," the man began. "Who are you and why did you steal my niece?"

"First of all," I said. "I didn't know that she was your niece. Pierre told me about the Chosen, and I assumed that she had been abandoned by someone. He never mentioned that she belonged to anyone."

"Of course he didn't" the man said matter-of-factly. "He had orders not to should a problem arise. The child was only to stay there until I was sure that her father was not looking for her."

"And second of all," I continued. "I won't tell you who I am until someone tells me where Erik is."

"Gentlemen?" The man asked, turning to M. Didier and Pierre. I turned to them also.

"Well," M. Didier began seemingly proud. "We had him taken to jail for his crimes. He will be put on trial as soon as his wounds heal. They weren't as bad as the idiot next to me said." He jerked his head in Pierre's direction.

"Hey!" Pierre protested.

I frowned and said, "He's right, Pierre. You are an idiot. I actually had thought that you trusted me, and that we were friends." I smiled cruelly. "I won't go back on my promise to kill you," I said. "Of that, you can be certain."

"Well, now that your question has been answered, you can tell us all who you are." The man smiled. It wasn't necessarily an evil smile, just peculiar. It seemed almost supercilious; as though he knew something I didn't and was just dying to tell me what it was.

"My name is Rebecca Lawrence." I said. "I am nineteen years old, and I worked for m. and Mme. Rouleau for several months before this whole fiasco began."

"Good," the man said. "I am somewhat satisfied with your answer, but not completely." He pointed to Pierre. "This man here mentioned that he overhead a conversation between you and this, Erik person. He said that he heard you talk about the twenty-first century, and a time machine. Perhaps you can explain your reasons for doing this." He smiled.

"No." I said flatly." I can't tell you that."

"Oh, come on, now," the man coaxed. "Sure you can. You have nothing to fear from me or my men."

"That's where you're wrong," I said. "I have everything to fear. You control the police-so you say- and if that's true, then you can very well inflict serious damage to a person. Besides, that's none of your business." I struggled against my bonds for a moment.

"Yes, it is my business," the man corrected.

Suddenly, and idea came to me. "Alright, Monsieur," I said. "I will tell you the meaning. But first, you have to do something for me."

"I'm open to new ideas," he replied. "I love to barter."

"I'll tell you what I meant when I said that, -and I don't deny saying it-if you give Erik amnesty." If my hands hadn't been tied behind my back, I would have crossed them over my chest.

"I'm afraid I am not familiar with that term. I, myself, have never been a political person." He smiled, showing his white teeth. He seemed to like smiling.

"It means that you will get the authorities to grant Erik a pardon." I was shaking with nervousness. "You won't let them imprison him, and you certainly won't let them kill him." I clamped my lips shut to keep from crying. Just speaking the thought aloud made me want to burst into tears.

"And how exactly am I supposed to do that?" The man asked. "As I recall, he's wanted for murder in several countries, -including France-he kidnapped a young soprano several moths ago, and he stole thousands of Francs from the owners of the Opera Populaire."

"I don't care how you do it," I said. "So long as no harm comes to him."

"Why is it, exactly, that you feel the need to save him?" The man asked. "After all, for all you know, once you tell me the reason, I may want you executed."

"I suppose it's possible," I said in return. "But unlikely. My main thought is that you'll need me just so you can get even more filthy rich than you are now."

"Although it may seem to you that I am a man who hoards wealth, I am not." He said. "I was born to a servant maid, and when my mother died, her employers, who were kindly people, took in myself and my sister and raised us as their own. They had no children of their own, and could never have children due to medical circumstances."

He sighed and sat down in a plush armchair. Then he motioned for the guards to untie me. Perhaps he had realized that, with so many men, I wasn't much of a threat.

"When the rich couple died, they left everything to me. My sister still lived with me at the time. They didn't leave it to her because she was younger, and the custom is that the elder would get the fortune." He smiled sadly.

"Will you do it?" I asked him. "Will you grant him clemency?"

"So many political words!" He exclaimed in jest and sat down. He sighed wearily. "Very well," he said. "I will see what I can do, but I can't promise you results. I may own the police, but I don't own the governor of Paris, and it is he who is the judge residing over all trials of importance."

"Thank you," I said, relieved. I just prayed that he would keep his word. For Erik's sake, I prayed for a miracle.

**A/N: I hope you liked that. I'm going to start a V for Vendetta story, but I'm thinking of posting it after this one is finished. It would make things a little less stressful. As well, I want you, the readers, to review and tell me if you think I should continue with one or both of my stories called, Me and My Muses, and Planet of the Opera. Review and let me know!**


	12. Rock, Paper, Scissors

Child of Freedom

Chapter 12- Rock, Paper, Scissors

Erik woke to the sound of his own breathing. **_I'm alive_**, he thought. He opened his eyes and saw white. There was a white ceiling overhead, and, as he turned his head to the sides, he could see that the walls were white as well. The lights were turned to a faint brightness.

There was pain all over his torso, and it was difficult to move. But he tried to move slowly, so it would cause him less pain.

As Erik moved his head on the pillow, he could feel the straps holding him in place. **_Where am I_**? Erik thought. He felt his bare cheek against the cold fabric of the pillow. This thought took a few moments to register. He nearly died from shock: He wasn't wearing his mask.

Men and women in white uniforms came in and out of the room. They mostly came and looked at him blatantly. They had never seen someone like him before. He felt a warm flush creep up his neck in embarrassment.

One woman stopped outside the curtain with a child holding her hand. The little girl peeked through the curtain and gasped. She hid behind it.

While her mother wasn't looking, the little girl crept into Erik's room. The nurses didn't seem to notice her. She crept up to Erik and stood in front of his bed.

"Hello," Erik whispered.

"Bonjour," the girl breathed.

"What's your name?" Erik asked her. He would have smiled, but he had a feeling that it wouldn't have made the little girl feel any better.

"Sophie," she replied softly. "What's your name?"

"Erik," Erik said.

Then Sophie pointed to his face. "Qu'est-ce que c'est passer?" She asked.

"I was born like that," Erik replied, explaining his deformity.

"I was born like this," the little girl said, pointing to her face. She wasn't trying to be funny, but Erik couldn't help thinking how cute it was that she said that.

"You were born beautiful," Erik told her. She smiled shyly.

"Are you my new friend?" She asked.

Erik nodded. "If you want me to be," he said.

The little girl nodded, and she reached her little hand up to him. She touched the deformed side of his face.

"Your skin feels neat," she said, and laughed softly.

"How old are you, Sophie?" Erik asked her.

"Four," she said, and held up four fingers. "How old are you?" She asked him.

"Oh, I'm old," he said. "Much older than you."

"How old?" She asked again.

"When you get as old as me, then I'll tell you," Erik told her.

"How will I know when I'm as old as you if I don't know how old you are?" She asked. She was a very smart little girl to be able to figure that out.

"I don't know." Erik smiled faintly. He didn't want to startle her, but he couldn't help but smile at the fact that he had been stumped by a four year-old.

"Where do you live?" Sophie asked, taking his hand and running her finger along it.

"Far from here," Erik said evasively. He was starting to get suspicious that she was spying on him or something. But her next statement erased that suspicion.

"Maybe I could visit you sometime," she said. "I have a really pretty tea set that I could bring."

"I don't think I would be able to do that," Erik said. Then he had an idea. "Sophie," he asked. "Where are we?"

"In a hospital," she said, still tracing lines on his hand with her fingers.

"What kind of hospital?" Erik prodded gently.

"The kind where bad people go," she replied. Then she looked up. "But you're not bad, are you? She asked.

"I have done things that I shouldn't have," Erik replied honestly. "But I'm not like that anymore. I'm a good person now."

"But not perfect," Sophie said.

"No," Erik smiled. "Not perfect.

"Good," Sophie said. "Maman says that if a person says he's perfect, then he's definitely not." She told him.

"You're mother was very wise to say that," Erik replied.

"Maman wasn't wise," Sophie replied. "Just mad."

"At who?" Erik asked.

"I don't know," Sophie answered. Then suddenly she asked eagerly, "Hey, Erik! Do you want to play a game?"

"What game?"

"It's called rock, paper, scissors," she said. "I made it up."

"How do you play?" Erik asked.

"There are three things to choose from," she said. "There's a rock, a piece of paper, or scissors."

"I don't see anything," Erik said, trying to look around for the objects she spoke of.

"That's because you make them with your hand, silly," she said, as though it were obvious. She made her hand into a little fist. "This is rock," she said. Then she lay her hand out flat. "This is paper." Then she put her hand into a fist and stuck two fingers out. "And this is scissors." She said. "Rock beats scissors, scissors beat paper, and paper beats rock," she continued.

"Why does paper beat rock?" Erik asked, slightly confused.

"Because it covers the rock and digs its ends into the ground so rock can't get up. That means that rock is beaten," she replied matter-of-factly. "This is how you play," she continued. Then she held her fist in the air and shook it up and down three times. "Rock, paper, scissors!" She cried, and made her hand into the scissors.

"I don't understand," Erik said, now really confused. The pain was getting to him.

"That's because you weren't paying attention," she said. Erik had to restrain himself to keep from laughing. Here was a four-year-old girl telling him to pay attention. It was too funny.

"When I go rock, paper, scissors, you do the same thing. But you think in your head which thing you want to pick. Then when you're finished saying rock, paper, scissors, you make your hand into the thing you chose."

"Okay," Erik said, finally understanding what she was telling him.

"Rock, paper, scissors!" Sophie cried, and made her hand flat. Erik had made his hand into a fist. Sophie put her little piece of "paper" over his hand and said, "I win!" She smiled triumphantly. "Let's play again!" She said eagerly, and held out her hand. But before they could play again, they heard a sound.

"Sophie!" A voice cried angrily. Erik looked up to see the girl's mother come into the room. She dashed over to Sophie and picked her up.

"Monstre!" She cried in French, and dashed out of the room.

"Erik!" She cried. "Maman put me down! He's my friend!" But the girl's mother wouldn't listen. She just carried Sophie out of the room.

Erik closed his eyes. Then he remembered Rebecca. He tried to ask a nurse about her, but the nurse ignored him. Eventually, Erik passed out. He dreamed of Rebecca.

-

I sat on the bed, staring at the wall. I was still wearing the dress that Erik had given me. Now, though, it was covered in his blood.

The Monsieur had offered to let me borrow one of his late sister's dresses, but I had declined. The dress was all I had left of Erik. I knew that he was still alive, but I didn't know if he would stay that way.

There was a knock on the door and I called, "Come in."

Pierre opened the door and stood on the threshold. He shifted from foot to foot.

I turned my head and glared at him with pure, unadulterated, hatred. He wouldn't look me in the eye.

"What do you want?" I demanded.

He shifted his feet again. "I just wanted to apologize," he said, his head tilted to the floor. "I'm sorry."

"No you're not," I said flatly. Without him noticing, I reached under my pillow. "It was stupid of you to come here," I stated. "I won't go back on my promise to kill you."

"I'm serious," he replied, looking up. "I am sorry."

"Liar," I hissed. My fingers closed around the hard, metal object that I had hidden there after dinner. "You shouldn't have come here," I repeated, and threw the knife. It landed right in his breast.

Pierre stared at the knife stuck in his chest, surprise written all over his features. "Would you look at that?" He said, pulling the knife out of his chest. Then he fell to the floor and landed with a thud.

I stood up and picked the knife up off of the floor. I wiped the blade on Pierre's now-bloodied shirt. I pushed Pierre's body away from the doorway, and closed the door. Then I went down to the kitchen and plopped the knife the soapy water that was in the sink.

On my way to find the Monsieur, I was stopped by M. Didier. "Do you know where Pierre is?" He asked.

"I suspect that he's in hell," I replied, and pushed past him. I needed to know if the Monsieur had made any progress in helping Erik.

-

Henri paced the sitting room. He was wracking his brain for an idea as to how to convince the mayor to pardon Erik.

Perhaps if he gave the mayor some money, and assured him that Erik would return all that he had taken from the owners of the Opera Populaire. No, that still wouldn't be good enough for the murder aspect of it all.

While Henri was pacing, his niece was asleep in her bassinet. Lynaea was a good name for her, but still not like the ones from his parents' homeland. His sister had wanted her daughter to have a name from their parents' homeland. Henri wondered if he would be able to come up with something.

As he was thinking this, Rebecca came into the room. She still wore the old, bloody, dress that her friend, Erik, had given her. Henri thought she should change, but she seemed determined to wear it until she knew that Erik was safe.

"Is there something that you need?" Henri asked.

"I was wondering if you had made any progress," she answered. He noticed that her feet were bare.

"No," Henri replied. "None." He turned away from her so he could think.

"By the way," she said. Henri turned back to her. "I thought I should let you know that Pierre is dead." Her voice was flat, and her expression blank.

"I see," Henri said. Actually, he wasn't in the least bit surprised. From the moment he saw her, Henri had a feeling that she always kept her word, and never gave up.

Most people thought that Henri was blind, but it was just the opposite. Henri eyes were white because a doctor had performed an experimental operation to increase Henri's vision. The result had turned his eyes white. But he could still see.

"Let me know when you have results," Rebecca said.

"Of course," Henri replied. He inclined his head at Rebecca's retreating figure.

**A/N: I hope you liked that. I don't know if scissors were invented back then, but in this story they exist. Sophie is so cute! Please review and let me know what you think.**


	13. The Trial

Child of Freedom

Chapter 13- The Trial

I stood in front of a mirror and looked at my reflection with disgust. I was wearing a sky-blue dress. It belonged to the late sister of the Monsieur. He had insisted that I wear it for the trial. He said that it wouldn't do for me to be wearing a bloody dress for the trial.

My hair was now quite long, and it was braided and then twisted into an elaborate bun at the top of my head. The Monsieur's maid had done it up for me.

I followed the Monsieur into a carriage and sat down. I had polished the slippers that Erik had given me to a shine, and they twinkled in the early morning light.

The monsieur spoke briefly to me then. "You can call me Henri instead of Monsieur. It will make things a little easier when it comes time for you to testify on Erik's behalf," he said. I nodded in response.

We reached the court building in record time. I stepped out and saw a large crowd gathered around the building. Evidentially, a whole lot of people where wanting to see how the trial would turn out.

A guard came from the crowd and led M. Henri and myself into the building. People shoved and pushed their way forward, and I nearly lost track of the guard.

When we reached the court, we were seated just behind the defendant's box. Henri bent forward to speak to the lawyer he had hired for Erik. Something about the way he was always willing to help bothered me. But perhaps that was just me being suspicious.

As soon as everyone was seated, the bailiff brought Erik in. I gasped. Erik wasn't wearing his mask! I didn't have a problem with that myself, but Erik was sensitive about his deformity.

Erik saw me and suddenly smiled broadly. He seemed relieved. I suppose that he had thought I was injured because I had screamed right before Pierre had stabbed him. I smiled back and discreetly waved. Erik sat down right in front of me. He turned around and leaned forward to say something. I leaned in to listen.

"No matter what happens today, I will find a way to make things right," he said. On an impulse, I leaned forward and kissed his cheek.

"Everything will work out," I whispered. "You'll see."

Then the bailiff called for everyone to rise for the Judge. The Judge's name was Bailey, and he looked very tough. After the initial proceedings, I heard a name called to the stand that I thought I would never hear.

"I call Christine Daaé to the stand," the prosecution called out.

Christine came from the other side of the room. She looked at Erik with contempt and hatred. But she was also afraid. I glared at her vehemently until she took the stand and swore to tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth.

The prosecution came up to the stand and asked, "Do you now this man?" He pointed to Erik.

"Yes," she said, without looking in the direction to which the prosecution pointed.

"How?" The prosecution asked.

"He kidnapped me," she replied. A murmur went through the crowd. The Judge banged his gavel on the desk.

"Please tell us, in detail, the happenings that surrounded your kidnapping," the prosecution said when the murmur had died down.

Christine then related everything that had happened to her and Raoul. She put as much detail into it as she could, I could tell. I could also tell that some of the things she said weren't true. For example, she said that she had hated Erik from the very beginning. She also said that she had told him that and had not for one moment let him believe that she cared for him.

My whole being was urging me to go up there and smack her, but I controlled myself. I didn't want to ruin Erik's chances of being rescued.

The defense asked a few question, none of which sounded as though they would do any good. Then I was called to the stand. I came up and put my hand on the Bible. When I had sworn to tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth, I sat down.

"Miss Lawrence," The defense asked me. "Do you agree with what Ms. Daaé said?"

"No," I replied.

"You were there, weren't you?" The defense attorney continued.

"Yes, I was," I said.

"Could you tell us your version of what happened?" The defense requested.

"Of course," I replied, and I began to tell them exactly what happened. Okay, so not exactly. I didn't see the whole thing, but I read the book, so I knew what had happened. I added exactly how I knew what had happened, but I didn't think it mattered much. After all, the truth is the truth.

As well as telling the defense attorney what happened, I also informed him how Erik had turned over a new leaf, and was no longer a bad person.

When I was finished giving my testimony, I left the stand. On my way back to my seat, I saw Christine glaring at me fiercely. I narrowed my eyes at her and glared back.

The Erik was called to the stand and he gave his testimony. After that, the trial got boring. I waited patiently for the questioning to be over. When the time finally came, Erik was taken into a back room for a while.

The jury went out to discuss their verdict, and the rest of the people in the courtroom waited.

It was hours before the jury finally returned. One of them stood up. "We, the jury," he began. "Find the defendant, Erik, to be guilty of murder, and kidnapping. The sentence is imprisonment for ten years." I gasped, and the tears started to come. "And all the money will be returned to the Paris Opera owners. If there is anyone who is willing to pay a seven-thousand franc fine for the defendant to be immediately put out on parole, he or she should do so now."

I immediately turned to Henri, but he was already standing. "I will pay the fine," he said. A murmur went through the crowd. My heart was hammering in my chest, and I was so scared that I hardly dared to breath.

"Do you have the money now?" The Judge asked. He obviously wanted Erik to go to prison, but the law is the law.

"Yes, I do, Your Honor," M. Henri said, and he pulled from his pocket a whole wad of cash. I gaped at it.

I turned a little in my seat and saw Christine sitting beside Raoul. She had her face in her hands and I could hear her sobbing quietly. At least something was done to punish that girl for what she did.

Henri came up and handed the Judge the money. He whispered something to the Judge, and the Judge nodded. The Judge then gave the order for the bailiff to release Erik.

I was overjoyed. I was so happy that, as soon as Erik's hands were free, I jumped into his arms. He caught me, and I kissed him full on the mouth. I was sure that Christine would be gaping in amazement, and the thought made me smile.

Then I noticed that no one in the room was cheering. Oh, sure there was a polite clapping, but no one was cheering.

Then, from the back of the room, I heard a small voice say, "Go Erik! YAY!" A little girl, no more than four or five, came running up to the front. I stared at her. I had no idea who she was.

"Do I get to bring my tea set now?" She asked, looking up at Erik eagerly. Erik laughed out loud at her antics.

"Only if your mother says you can," he replied. I looked at him and he returned my look with one that said he'd explain later.

"Yippee!" She cried, and ran back down the center to the back where her parents were obviously waiting.

**A/N: Sorry for such a short chapter. It's a bit of a filler, but I hope that's okay. Sophie is so cute!**


	14. Secrets Revealed

Child of Freedom

Chapter 14- Secrets Revealed

I sat down in Henri's parlor with Erik beside me. I held Erik's hand in mine. Henri sat down across from us and folded his arms across his chest. He leaned in his seat.

He directed his gaze to me. "So," he began. "I kept my part of the bargain, now you must keep yours."

Erik turned to me. "What is he talking about?" He asked.

I turned to him and looked at him sheepishly. "I told him that I would tell him about my little secret if he helped you."

"I wish you had told me before you went ahead and promised him this," he said.

"That was a little difficult with you in jail," I replied, smiling slightly. He smiled in return.

"I suppose you're right," he said.

I turned to Henri. "Yes, I promised to tell you my secret," I confirmed. "But you must first promise not tell anyone else this."

"Of course," he replied. "You have my word."

"Well," I began, and let out a breath of air. "I am from the future." Henri stared at me for a moment. Then he began to laugh. "What's so funny?" I asked. "Is it that unbelievable?"

He shook his head. He roared laughter and threw his head back. When he had collected himself, he replied, "I'm sorry. I obviously offended you. But, you know, it's not every day one meets someone from the future." He smiled.

I smiled back, and continued with my story, explaining how I had come to be in the 19th century and why. When I was finished, he just leaned back in his chair and thoughtfully stroked his chin.

"So that's why you said that," he mused aloud. Then he leaned forward in his chair. "May I see the time machine?" He asked.

"I'm not sure that's a good idea," I said nervously.

"If you let me see it, then I will explain myself to you. And finish explaining what M. Didier was trying to tell you before you kicked him and ran off." He smiled.

"I think I already know what he was trying to say," I told him, crossing my arms over my chest. "And I know that you and him are both members of The Servants."

"Wherever did you get that idea?" Henri asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Well," I said. "When M. Didier was talking about The Servants, he said 'we'."

"That's because he was one of them. He's not anymore. M. Didier was one of the Chosen outcasts. He was thrown out as a child. Sometimes he still acts as though he's one of them. I don't know why. It's not like they're the nicest people to be around." He smiled. "Anyway, do we have a deal?"

I turned to Erik for help. He shook his head. "I can't make this decision for you," he said. "You have to make it yourself."

I turned to Henri and nodded. "Alright," I said. "I'll show it to you. But I warn you not to press any of the buttons. You could wind up eating lunch with the mastodons."

"What's a mastodon?" He asked.

"It's a prehistoric animal," I replied. "Trust me, you don't want to meet one."

"I'll take your word for it." He smiled.

I lifted up my sleeve and pulled out a bracelet. At least, it looked like a bracelet. It was really the time machine. Cautiously, I handed it to Henri, who gently took it and looked at it.

He tilted it and looked at it from all angles. At one point, he even pulled out a magnifying glass and looked at it. Finally, he handed it back to me.

"Fascinating," he said. "I can't find a single dent in the metal."

"That's because it's covered with a white fabric," I said. I don't remember the combination to make it larger, or to remove the fabric." I slid the machine onto my wrist and tucked it underneath the sleeve.

"Now that I've let you look at it," I continued. "You have to explain what M. Didier was saying, and explain yourself."

"Well, Henri began. "M. Didier was trying to scare you into giving back Lynaea, but you didn't let him finish." He leaned back in his seat.

"And you?" I prodded.

"I am a humble man- with an extensive amount of money at his fingertips- who has been trying desperately for some time now to thwart the reign of someone that I hope you never have to meet."

"Why's that?" Erik asked.

"Because," Henri said. "He is greedy and evil to the core."

"Who is he?" I asked.

"He never gives anyone his real name," Henri said. "He goes by the alias of The Chieftain." He paused. "He is the leader of The Servants. He pretends to be a priest, but he is really is out to get the people's money. You see," Henri leaned for forward. "Each week, he says that God told him to collect a tithe from the people."

"What's so bad about that?" Erik asked. "All churches do that."

"But here's the thing," Henri said, raising a finger for emphasis. "He can't actually hear God, he just pretends to. And the money that the people give him is much more than ten percent. It's more like seventy-five percent. This makes the people very poor. As well, the people have no government benefits, so they pay for everything out of their own pockets."

"But that's not fair," I said.

"You're right, it's not," Henri agreed. "But, at the moment, there's nothing we can do about it." He shook his head. "And the worst part about it is, that The Chieftain keeps all of the money for himself. He continues to tell the people that God is saving the money for when they really need it, but they really need it now. They always have. He tells them that there are people in the community that are worse off than they are, but that's only because they started out poor, and he still demanded money from them."

"So what can we do about it?" I asked.

"I have sent spies to infiltrate the area, but they all disappeared within a week. I think that The Chieftain had them killed. Either that, or he pretended that God was displeased with them, and "sacrificed" them."

"Ew," I commented.

"So what are you going to do now?" Erik asked.

"I'm not sure," Henri said. "The man treats this like a game. I wonder if perhaps I can get him to see reason." He leaned back and stroked his chin thoughtfully. "Maybe if I offer him some of my own money," he muttered.

I sat there and though for a minute. "Did you say that he treats it like a game?" I asked.

"Yes," Henri replied.

"Then why don't we make it a game?" I said.

"What are proposing?" Erik asked, turning to me.

"What if one of us challenged him to a game?" I said. "If one of us one, he would give the people their money back and allow himself to be arrested for his crimes. If he wins, then one of us has to pay the price and becomes his prisoner."

"It's a good plan," Henri mused. "But it has a fatal flaw."

"What's that?" I asked.

"What if we lose?" He asked, looking up at me.

"Then the one who played the game has to become his prisoner, and all attempt s to stop his operation will be stopped." I replied.

"And you're willing to risk your freedom?" He asked.

"Yes," I said.

"No," Erik said at the same time.

"Erik," I said. "This is my decision. You can't make this choice for me." I looked at him seriously.

He took my face in both his hands. "I don't want to lose you," he said.

I took his hands in mine. "You won't," I replied. "Because I will win." Slowly, Erik nodded. I gave him a quick peck on the left cheek. The right side of his face was again covered by a mask.

"Then it's settled," Henri said. "We will challenge him to a game. The only question remains as to what game?" He looked from me to Erik. Neither of us said anything.

"Uh," Erik began. "Rock, Paper, Scissors?" He suggested.

**A/N: I hope you liked that. Wait until you read what happens next. Review, please, and tell me what you think.**


	15. The Challenge

Child of Freedom

Chapter 15- The Challenge

I stood in front of Erik and did a little pirouette. "Well," I said. "What do you think?" I was wearing a pair of trousers and an old shirt of Henri's. I had put the clothes on so I would be more comfortable when I played the game against The Chieftain.

"You look fine," Erik said, leaning up against the door frame of the room I had been changing in. he smiled when I did a little goofy dance and threw my arms around him. I kissed him on the lips.

"Mmm," I said. "You taste like fruit."

"I do?" Erik asked, putting his arms around my waist. "Let's see what you taste like." He kissed me full on the mouth.

"Yup," he said. "It's just as I suspected. You taste like peppermint."

"Yuck!" I exclaimed, sticking my tongue out for a moment. "I hate peppermint."

"Well, I love peppermint," Erik said, nuzzling my cheek. He kissed me on the mouth again.

"Erik, stop," I giggled. Then I became serious. "We have to be ready for the game," I said. "As much as I would like to keep on kissing you, we have to make sure that we haven't forgotten anything."

"But we have forgotten something," Erik said.

"What?" I asked.

"We have forgotten that you need another kiss," He said, and planted one on my mouth.

"Alright, you two, that's enough," M. Didier was behind Erik. We both turned around and blushed crimson. "Relax," M. Didier said. "You'll get to be all cuddly once we've gotten this thing over and done with." He turned and left the hall. I heard his boots thud on the stairs.

"We're alone again," Erik said mischievously.

"And we should use the time to prepare," I replied, disentangling myself from his grasp. He looked disappointed, but he gave me one last kiss on the cheek before going to the room that Henri had let him use. Several minutes later, I was all packed. I was prepared to stay with The Chieftain, should I lose.

Erik's suggestion of playing Rock, Paper, Scissors had startled me. I hadn't realized that they had the game in the nineteenth century. I wondered if maybe someone had made it up. I doubted that The Chieftain would know what it was, but it was an interesting suggestion. However, the game was one of chance, and didn't usually involve losing your freedom.

It was for that reason that I had decided on a game of wits. Me against him. No games, no tricks. Just my brain against his. And he wouldn't be allowed to do anything that the people had been taught was from God or anything. I figured that it would be fairly easy to beat him because I was born in the twenty-first century, so I would know more things than him. Even if he was ten or twenty years older than me, I would still be a match for him.

I met Erik, Henri and M. Didier by the front door. I simple horse and cart waited for us outside. We had decided ahead of time that we would dress very simply. I wanted him to underestimate us. That way, he would give easy question. We decided that the game would be a game of wits. It would be played by each person asking the other a riddle. Whoever couldn't answer the other's riddle first was the loser.

We all left the mansion and climbed onto the wagon. Henri sat in the driver's seat, while Erik sat shotgun. M. Didier and myself sat in the back of the wagon, on top of the fresh hay. The trousers I wore were a bit itchy, but they were more comfortable than most of the dresses that I wore.

"How exactly do you know where to find them?" I asked Henri from where I sat.

"Have you forgotten that I sent spies there before?" Henri asked with a slight amount of humor in his voice.

"No," I replied. "But what if they've moved?"

"I seriously doubt that they would be able to move so many people without someone noticing," Henri said pleasantly as he directed the horses onto a dirt road that led away from the city.

There was very little traffic along this road, and only a few trees. If we passed someone, they wouldn't even look at us. They would just keep on going. Henri nearly ran over one person because the man wasn't watching where he was going.

It took a long time for us to arrive, but after about an hour, I spotted some dark lumps. As we neared, I could see that the lumps were dwellings. People walked back and forth from the dwellings. These people wore green cloaks. They were too far off, though, for me to distinguish more than that about them.

People were lined up in front of more buildings. These were made of a material that was a slightly lighter shade in color than the black dwellings. I figured it must have been sweltering in those buildings when the sun was up. I didn't blame the people for being outside.

I could see children running about and playing. It gave me comfort to know that the people hadn't been completely deprived of fun.

As Henri turned the wagon onto the side road that led towards the dwellings, people started to point at us and talk. Many left the lines they were in and dashed for some dwellings. Some of them grabbed their children first before locking their doors behind them.

"Well, they seem friendly," I commented sarcastically as we entered the little village. Everyone had disappeared into their houses. There wasn't a person in sight.

In the distance, I could see a large building that was shaped a little bit like a pyramid. It reminded me a little bit of a television show that I had watched when I was still living in the twenty-first century.

I pointed to the building. "I think that should be our destination," I said. "After all, this guy claims he's a priest. When looking for a priest, you go to a church. A church is often the largest building in the town."

Henri nodded. "Are you prepared?" He asked me. I nodded.

"I've memorized tons of riddles," I said. "Most of them from books. I often would ask my mother riddles when I was smaller."

"Good," he said, looking at the large building in the distance. "I hope that you are prepared with a lot of them, because this man is said to be a master of riddles."

"You might have told me that before we arrived," I said, crossing my arms over my chest and looking at him pointedly.

"I figured you already had enough on your mind," he replied. "I didn't want to add to the stress."

"But it would have at least let me know what I was up against," I replied.

"We have to get going," Erik said suddenly.

"Why?" I asked.

"Because I have a feeling that we're not exactly welcome here," he replied. "I think it would be best if we took the wagon to that building." He nodded towards the large structure in the distance.

We all agreed that that was the best course of action. So we all piled onto the wagon again and set off for the pyramid-type building.

We reached it soon enough and were glad of it. The whole time that we had been heading for the building, I had had the feeling that someone was watching us. As soon as we reached the building, though, the feeling went away.

We entered through the large, brass, double doors. "So this is what he's done with their money," I mused aloud.

"Yes," Henri replied sadly. "As they get poorer, he gets richer." He shook his head.

I stood in the hall with the others and marveled at the architecture. The pillars were at least several hundred meters tall and the roof was so high, I had so lean my head back to be able to see the top.

"Lovely, isn't it?" Asked a voice. I lowered my head.

Standing in front of us, was a man. He was wearing a multicolored robe and had graying hair. His head was almost completely hidden underneath an elaborate headdress. He inclined his head slightly. For a moment, I thought that he would fall down because of the heavy headdress. But he stayed upright.

I stepped forward. "We have come to speak with you about something," I said. "You are The Chieftain, are you not?" I asked

He nodded his head. "I am," he said.

"We know that you have been cheating the people out of their money for your own gain. We have come up with a solution to that."

he raised an eyebrow. "I'm not sure I know what you're talking about," he said. "I do only what God tells me to. If that means that he wants me to collect money from the people, then so be it."

"But you don't have to give any money, why should they?" I demanded.

"I give money to the temple," The Chieftain smiled. It was a plastic smile. I had come to hate that kind of smile.

"Don't BS me," I said. "I know what you're trying to do, and frankly, I'm tired of it."

His smile immediately disappeared. "And what do you plan on doing about it?" He asked.

"I'm here to challenge you to a battle of wits," I said. I was really nervous, but I knew that I was the only one who would be able to match his skill. I had gone to church when I was living in the twenty-first century, and I had studied for twelve years in school. I was positive that I could at least match him stride for stride.

"A battle of wits?" He mused aloud. "How interesting. What kind of battle of wits?" He asked.

"The riddle kind," I replied.

He rubbed his hands together like an eager child. "Really?" He asked, although I was sure that he didn't care to confirm. I knew that he was already thinking of riddles.

"Yes," I replied. "These are the stakes. If I win, you return all the money you've taken from the people and you will allow yourself to be put on trial for your crimes." He frowned and looked thoughtfully up at a column.

"And if I win?" He asked.

"If you win, then I will allow myself to become your prisoner, and none of us standing here will ever bother you about this issue again." I crossed my arms over my chest. "Do we have a deal?"

He licked his lips thoughtfully and tapped his finger on his chin. "We have a deal," he said, and we shook hands.

**A/N: I hope you liked that. Next chapter will be the game, and I'm sure that that's going to be exciting. Review, please, and tell me what you think.**


	16. Riddles

Child of Freedom

Chapter 16- Riddles

**A/N: Just so everyone knows, I don't own most of the riddles that I'm using. Rebecca has read The Hobbit, and she's memorized the riddles that Gollum asked Bilbo, and vice versa. So I don't own a lot of the riddles. JRR Tolkien does.**

-

I sat in the center of a large crowd. Across from me sat The Chieftain. He was wearing an even more colorful robe, and his headdress was even more elaborate.

Unlike most crowds, this one was silent, waiting. They waited for one of us to make the first move. Of course, there wasn't any physical harm that would come to either of us in this battle. This was a battle of wits. This was to see who could ask cleverest riddle.

"You go first," The Chieftain offered.

"Alright," I said. "A box without hinges, key, or lid, yet golden treasure inside is hid."

The Chieftain was obviously puzzled. He had no idea what I was talking about. I smiled. "Ready to give up, yet?" I asked. I wanted to make him mad, so he would make a mistake.

"Golden treasure, golden treasure," he murmured to himself. "I know!" He exclaimed. "An egg."

My heart sank. The sudden way in which he answered told me that he had known the whole time. He just liked to perform for the crowd.

"My turn," he said. "What is brown, white, yellow, red, and black, but none of these colors at once?" He asked. I frowned.

What was he talking about? I tried to recall all the riddles I'd ever heard of that included colors. I couldn't think of anything.

I looked around at all the faces that were waiting for my answer. Some were brown, some were red from the heat, and some were white. Suddenly, the answer came to me.

"People." I replied. He frowned deeply. I wasn't sure whether or not he was trying to look disappointed, or if he really was.

"Thirty white horses on a red hill," I began my next riddle. "First they champ, then they stamp, then they stand still."

"That's not fair," said one person. "We don't know anything about animals."

The Chieftain held up a hand. Then he looked at me. "Teeth," he said. I growled at him.

"What is it that a beggar has, a rich man needs, and the dead eat?" He asked.

I smiled in relief. I had heard this riddle before. "Nothing," I replied.

The Chieftain glared at me and growled. I concealed my delight at his anger, and asked my next riddle.

"What has roots as nobody sees, is taller than trees? Up, up it goes, and yet never grows." I thought that he wouldn't be able to get the answer, seeing as how we were in the prairies at the moment, and the answer wasn't for miles around.

Unfortunately, he knew the answer. "Mountain," he said after a moment of thinking. I was disappointed, but I was careful not to let it show.

"What is it that can be given away, and that everyone has; can be foolishly lost, and cruelly sold?" The Chieftain asked. I thought long and hard about the question, but couldn't think of the answer.

**_Please, let me think of the answer, _**I silently prayed. **_I don't want to lose my freedom._** Suddenly, I knew the answer. "Freedom," I said. The Chieftain scowled furiously at me and I immediately asked my next riddle.

"An eye in a blue face saw an eye in a green face. 'That eye is like to this eye,' said the first eye. 'But in a low place, not in a high place.'"

The Chieftain gave me a puzzled look. He looked up at the sky. I bit my lip. When he looked back at me, he smiled. "Sun on the daisies," he said. Then he asked his riddle.

"This thing all things devours. Birds, beasts, trees flowers. Gnaws iron, bites steel, and grinds hard stones to meal. Slays king, ruins town, and beats high mountain down."

I hid my smile with a cough. This was one of the riddles that I had memorized. "Time," I answered. Then I asked, "A life without breath, as cold as death. Never thirsty, ever drinking. All in mail, never clinking." The air around us smelled of the answer, so I figured it was an easy one. I hadn't had time to recall any other riddles.

The Chieftain sniffed indignantly. Then he sniffed again. Smiling, he said, "Fish." Then he asked his next question, "You cannot see it, but you can hear it. You can feel it, but you cannot touch it. What is it?"

"Wind," I asked immediately. I was going to ask the same riddle next, although in different words. Instead I asked, "No legs lay on one leg. Two legs sat near on three legs. Four legs got some."

The Chieftain spluttered and cursed under his breath. This made the people shift uncomfortably.

"Well?" I asked after a time. "What is it?" I crossed my arms over my chest and glared at him indignantly.

"Um," he said. "Uh, let me think for a moment. I know! This is a trick question. There is no straight answer." He folded his arms across his chest.

"Aw, darn." I said in mock defeat. "Too bad for you. That's wrong." I smiled. "I win. That means that you have to admit defeat and allow yourself to be put on trial."

"Never," he spat, and jumped up out of his chair. He threw down his headdress and dashed out of the room. The people in the crowd let him part. They were still afraid of him.

Before I could say anything, Erik had jumped up and run after him. I followed close behind with Henri and M. Didier.

When we caught up to The Chieftain, he was wrestling with Erik for control. I tried to get in between them, and help Erik, but I was only in the way, so I backed off. Finally, Erik had him pinned down onto his stomach with his hands held firmly behind him.

Erik stood up and dragged the former chieftain with him. Henri brought forth a rope and securely tied the man up. Then M. Didier and Erik carried the man to the wagon.

"Wait!" Someone cried. I turned.

"What?" I asked.

"What do we do now?" A woman asked. "We have nowhere to go."

"You can stay here," I offered. "But you no longer have to give up you money." I went through the prisoner's pockets. I pulled out a key and handed it to the woman. "Here," I said. "This is probably what opens the place where he keeps the money."

"But what about our children?" A man asked. "Many of them were cast out."

"Where do they go when they're cast out?" I asked.

"They are sent away to live in the wilderness beyond," the man replied. "They don't go very far. They stay near the border so they can still have food. We have told our children that if ever they are cast out, that is what they should do."

"Then look to the border," I said. They seemed confused by my statement at first. But then one woman broke away and ran to the other edge of the fields. I peeked over at Erik and saw surprise on his face.

"What is it?" I asked.

"That was the mother of the little girl who was at the trial," He replied.

**A/N: I hope you liked that. There's one or two more chapters left. Then I'll start on the next in the trilogy. It will be called, A Gift For Charity. I've already planned most of it out. Review, please, and tell me what you think.**


	17. What Now?

Child of Freedom

Chapter 17- What Now?

They waved goodbye to Sophie and her mother and the four people, along with their prisoner, climbed onto the wagon. Erik sat in front with Henri. Then they set off for Paris. They reached it in good time, and went straight to the police station. Erik waited outside while Rebecca and Henri went inside with the prisoner.

As Erik leaned up against the wall outside the police headquarters, he thought about how he was going to confront Rebecca. He figured that they would finally have some time alone once they returned to Henri's establishment. He planned to confront her there.

Rebecca and Henri exited the building, and Erik pushed himself off of the wall. They climbed back onto the wagon and headed for Henri's mansion. When they reached the large, white building, Rebecca jumped down and headed for the door. Erik caught up with her.

"Can I talk to you once you've had a chance to freshen up?" He asked.

"Sure," Rebecca said, smiling. Henri's maid opened the door and let them in. Rebecca went to her room, and Erik went to his.

As he stood in front of the mirror, he wondered if he should perhaps dress up. He checked under his bed for the box. Yes, it was still there. He hoped that it was good enough.

He knew that he had only known Rebecca for about nine months, but he also knew that he loved her. He changed into something that he figured was appropriate and stood before the mirror again.

He was wearing a suit that he had borrowed from Henri. The two men were similar sizes, although this suit no longer fit Henri. The man had previously been quite tall, but for some reason, he had shrunk. Henri had told Erik that it was because of the shock of his sister's death.

The suit included a pair of black pants, a white shirt, a black coat that was lined in cold fabric on the inside, and a pair of gold cufflinks.

Erik put on a pair of black shoes and nodded at his reflection, satisfied that it was sufficient. He slipped the little box into the coat pocket, took one last look in the mirror, and left the room. He took a deep breath and headed for the parlor. On his way, he asked the maid to tell Rebecca to meet him in the parlor as soon as she was finished freshening up.

Erik sat down in the parlor and waited for Rebecca. The maid returned after several long moments. She was carrying a tray of tea. Erik smiled his silent gratitude. Obviously, she knew a thing or two about love.

"I think I should let you know," the maid said. "That Mademoiselle Rebecca will be a while. She is in a bit of a pickle." Erik looked at the maid with a confused expression on his face. "Monsieur," she said. "I have seen ladies get all hysterical about their clothing before. Usually it means they are desperate to impress whoever it is they are going to be meeting with."

Erik understood what the maid was saying almost immediately. Rebecca was trying to find an outfit that she thought would please him. He nearly laughed out loud, for that was the very thing he had been worrying about.

Erik smiled and nodded his understanding. The maid smiled in return, and left. Erik sat in silence, nursing a cup of tea. He had never been partial to tea, really, but it felt good to keep his hands occupied. Even if it was just to hold a cup of tea, he was glad to keep his hands busy. Unfortunately, the same could not be said for his mind.

Erik stared out the window at the fountain. The window in the parlor face the front of the mansion. Erik could see the fountain centered in a roundabout of roadway. He thought it made for a very pretty picture when you included the vast gardens on either side or the roundabout, and the row of trees lining the long driveway that led to the outside street. Really, the mansion was almost like a fairy tale.

"Beautiful, isn't it?" A voice asked from behind. Erik turned around to see Henri standing in front of him.

"Yes, very," Erik agreed. He put his teacup down.

"You know," Henri commented. "I was really never a fan of the whole extravagant mansion. Sure, I liked having a big house all to myself, and lots of money to spare, but I never did take to the fact that the mansion came with gardens. And, as always, gardens need to be tended." He sighed and sat down. "One of theses days I would like to sell the house and buy something a little less extravagant."

"Why not just buy something smaller and rent the house to someone?" Erik asked.

"Oh, well, you can't always find someone who only wants to live n a mansion temporarily," Henri replied. He reached for one of the two remaining cups of tea. He took a sip. "But, perhaps opportunity will present itself when I least expect it."

"Perhaps," Erik agreed, and he turned to look out the window again.

"So what do you plan on doing now that you can't go back to where you lived before, and since most people may not employ you because of your past?" Henri asked.

"Well, you certainly put it kindly," Erik commented sarcastically.

"Excuse me," Henri apologized. "I didn't mean to be rude. I was merely stating the facts."

"No, you're right," Erik said. "Most people wouldn't hire me." Erik watched the elderly gardener water the flowers. He was hunched over and seemed to be having a very difficult time of it. Suddenly, and idea came to Erik.

"Henri," He asked. "How old is your gardener?"

"Quite old, actually. But the poor old man refuses to retire. He says that it is the only way he can provide for himself. I would pay him for pretending to do work if I could only find someone to do the real work."

"I'll do it," Erik volunteered.

"The pay is not as much as you would think," Henri warned.

"So long as it is enough to provide me with a home and extra for food and clothes, then I do not mind." Erik said.

"The home comes with," Henri replied. "There is a small house in back that the gardener never uses that is supposed to be for him. He says that it's too lonely for him in there, so he goes back home every night. He lives with his son, who is grown and has a family."

"Even better," Erik said.

"Well, if you want the job, then you can have it. I'll let the old man know tomorrow."

"Wonderful," Erik said.

"What's wonderful?" Rebecca asked as she came into the room. She was wearing a midnight blue dress that matched her coloring perfectly. It was embroidered with tiny gold stars all over the skirt, and the bodice had a full moon stitched into the fabric. Her hair had been braided, and then twisted into an elaborate bun on the top of her head. On her feet were the small slippers that Erik had bought her. He smiled broadly when he saw her.

He stood up. "I'll tell you later," he said, and led her to a seat next to him on the couch. Henri cleared his throat twice and stood up.

"If you'll excuse me," he said. "I have somewhere else that I need to be." He nodded politely in farewell and left the room.

Rebecca turned and looked out the window. Erik offered her a cup of tea, and she took it. She sipped a little from it. Erik cleared his throat and returned his cup to it's saucer. Rebecca put hers down as well.

"So," she began. "What do you plan on doing now that the excitement has died down?" Her arm was gracefully draped across the back of the couch, and tiny crystal earrings dangled on her ears. They sparkled in the fading evening light.

"That all depends on you," Erik said.

"Me?" Rebecca turned away from the window to look at him questioningly. "What do you mean?" She asked.

Erik got down on one knee and pulled the little box out of his coat pocket and held it out to her. He heard Rebecca's sharp inhale of breath. Slowly, she took it and gently opened it. She gasped. Erik knew what she was seeing: A delicate ring of silver nestled in a bed of fabric. It had a decoration of leaves all around the edges, and in each leaf was a tiny diamond. Erik knew he had had to spend a lot of money on the ring, but he also knew that Rebecca was worth every penny.

"Oh, Erik," she breathed.

"Rebecca," Erik said. "Will you marry me?"

-

Tears sparkled in the corners of my eyes, threatening to fall. I just stared at the beautiful ring in awe. I barely heard his question. I looked up. "Huh?" I whispered.

"Will you marry me?" He repeated the question. I wasn't able to answer because the next thing I knew, I was sobbing hysterically.

Erik stood up and sat down on the couch again. "Rebecca," he asked. "What's wrong?" He took my face in both hands and wiped a tear away with his thumb. I shook my head, trying to tell him that nothing was wrong.

"What's the matter?" He asked again.

I took a deep breath and steadied myself before answering. "Nothing's wrong," I sniffled. "Everything is absolutely perfect." I nodded dumbly, still staring at the ring.

"I realize you probably need some time to think," Erik said awkwardly.

I shook my head again. "No," I said. "I don't need time to think." Erik's face fell. He thought I was saying no. "Yes," I said. Erik did a double take.

"What did you say?" He asked.

"I said, yes," I repeated. "Yes, Erik. I will marry you."

Erik stared at me for a moment, then he whooped for joy and kissed me. I wrapped my arms around his neck, still holding the open box in my hand. When Erik broke the kiss, he took the box out of my hand and slipped the sliver of silver onto the ring finger of my left hand. Then he kissed me again.

"I love you," he whispered to me.

"I love you, too," I whispered back, and kissed him again. I was so happy. I was going to be married! There was nothing in the world that could make me happier. Absolutely nothing.

**A/N: There it is! The final chapter. Review and let me know what you think. I welcome constructive criticism, but no flames, please.**


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